A Bride for Bennet
by Laina Lee
Summary: [Revision on hold for research and to complete other projects.] Hi-jinks ensue in this P&P prequel when Mrs. Gardiner tries to match her silly daughter Jane with young Mr. Horace Bennet while Horace tries to find a suitable bride for his widower father. The story of Mr. & Mrs. B and their parents.
1. Explanatory Notes

_Explanatory Notes_

 _This "chapter" may be skipped if you just want to get to the story, the first chapter of which begins at "3."_

 _This is a humorous send up of how the Bennets came to be married and includes their intimate lives behind closed doors, as well as the lives of their parents. The main characters include Leonard Bennet (the father of the Mr. Bennet of canon, widower of Elizabeth), Horace Bennet (the Mr. Bennet of canon), Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner (the parents of Mrs. Bennet of canon), Miss Jane Gardiner (the Mrs. Bennet of canon), Miss Lydia Gardiner (Mrs. Phillips of canon), Edward "Earnest" Gardiner (Mr. Gardiner of canon) and a love interest for Leonard._

 _This rewrite ended up as an "M" because I do get up close and personal with a few sex scenes and discussions of marital relations as well as some graphic depictions of violence and death (including death in childbirth). Most of this story is a "T" so I will label chapters individually with an "M" when needed. If a chapter is simply labeled "M" you should assume it contains a sex scene or graphic talk about sex. If it relates to death or violence, I will advise accordingly. If you need more information, feel free to shoot me a PM._

 _I wrote this prequel to answer the question I always had about why Mr. Bennet married Mrs. Bennet. In finding this answer, I learned backstories about the Bennets, the Gardiners, the Lucases and other denizens of Meryton. This story is canon compliant with Pride and Prejudice (just because the canon leaves so many unanswered questions and this story gives us the before and the after). I also wanted to explore what it was like to be Mrs. Bennet's mother as I have a "Jane Gardiner" type as my daughter._

 _I also learned the answers to: Why the entail? Why was Charlotte Lucas practical? How did Mrs. Bennet learn her scheming ways when it came to matching up her daughters with eligible men? Were Mr. and Mrs. Bennet ever happy together and if so, could they ever be happy again? Can anyone else have a second chance at happiness in a new romance after the death of a loved one? What is worth risking to gain your heart's desire?_

 _The story starts in 1786 (when the character we know as Mr. Bennet is a young, single man, returning home from Cambridge) and mostly covers the events before P &P. There are remembered scenes stemming back as far as the 1740s. To make the timing of the Bennet daughters' births work with a historical event that I wanted to include, I made the slight alteration of assuming the events of P&P took place in 1810-1811 rather than the commonly assumed 1811-1812 based on Austen's publication in 1813. There are historical figures and books referenced in this story; everything I say about them, their lives and what they did is true, but for how the characters interacted with them. This story only covers a few events that take place during the P&P timeline, but then concludes in the 1820s._

 _As this revision is mostly complete, I have committed to posting a chapter a week on Thursdays. If I receive at least four reviews from unique reviewers for a given chapter, I will post the next chapter early, but still post every Thursday. I am still fiddling with chapters as I post them, so this is why I am not putting up the whole thing at once._

 _For anyone who read the previous chapters or reads any comments posted prior to February 1, 2019, the chapter breaks have changed and I have removed the comments I had between chapters. If you read the first draft and reviewed, since you cannot review the same chapter again you may need to logout to leave a review. I love reviews and will always respond to them through PMs if you are logged in._

 _Because who is whom can be confusing (especially as I decided that the Bennet daughters we know and love are all named for their relatives) and I added several new characters that I am quite fond of, I have added an index of characters immediately after this note. In the index, characters are groups by families with the names and ages being those given as of the beginning of the story or when they first appear._ _Feel free to skip reading the index, it is just here in the second chapter if you need it._

 _One final note, in this work both men and women express views about their place in the world, beliefs about their roles in marriage and what it means for their bodies. These are not my views, but an attempt rather to imagine what people of the day may have believed based on societal views and expectations, and not to judge them for it. I know some writers like to write their characters as if they are wise and enlightened beyond their time and place modern sensibilities into the characters; I do my best to avoid that as I believe it stretches credibility. That does not mean, however, that characters may not react and attempt to forge a better understanding based on their own personal experiences, but it will mostly be done privately._

 _This revision is dedicated to the kind reviewers of my first draft: Guests, LadyJaeza, nanciellen, RegencyGirl17, liysyl, mangosmum, wosedwew, Graciela, Deanna27, marianotoinette1, Gedoena, Vesper1931, Happywife, Incarnadine and SandraAdeline. Many thanks to anyone who reviews, follows or favorites this story._


	2. Index of Characters

_Index of Characters_

 _This "chapter" may be skipped if you just want to get to the story, the first chapter of which begins at "3."_

The Bennets:

Phineas Bennet (deceased): former master of Longbourn, father to Thomas (deceased), John (deceased), Leonard and Margaret, and grandfather of Horace

Leonard Bennet/Mr. Bennet the elder: current acting master of Longbourn, formerly a lieutenant of the _Namur_ , third son of Phineas, father of Horace, 45 years old

Elizabeth "Lizzy" Bennet/Mrs. Bennet (née Trowbridge) (deceased): wife of Leonard, mother of Horace

Horace Bennet/Mr. Bennet the younger/aka Mr. Horace: [Mr. Bennet in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], heir to Longbourn, only child of Leonard and Elizabeth, 22 years old

Thomas Bennet (deceased): oldest son of Phineas Bennet

John Bennet (deceased): second oldest son of Phineas Bennet

The Gardiners:

Edward Gardiner/Mr. Gardiner: attorney in Meryton who succeeded to his father's law practice, married to Mary, father to Jane, Lydia and Edward

Mary Gardiner/Mrs. Gardiner (née Place): formerly a maid in the Robinson household at Purvis Lodge, married to Edward, mother to Jane, Lydia and Edward

Jane Gardiner: [Mrs. Bennet in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], eldest daughter of Edward and Mary, 19 years old

Lydia Gardiner: [Mrs. Phillips in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], youngest daughter of Edward and Mary, 16 years old

"Earnest" Edward: [Edward Gardiner in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], only son and youngest child of Edward and Mary, 12 years old

The Gouldings:

Virgil Goulding/Mr. Goulding (deceased): former master of Ashworth, widower, Joanna was his second wife

Joanna Goulding/Mrs. Goulding (née Lucas): mistress of Ashworth, widow of Virgil, childless, 31 years old

Mr. Goulding: master of Ashworth, brother to Virgil (deceased) and Miss Goulding, courting Miss Harrington, 39 years old

Miss Goulding: sister of the Mr. Gouldings

The Hills:

Mr. Hill: the current bookseller in Meryton, married to Dorothy, has three daughters

Dorothy Hill (née Lucas): married to Mr. Hill, has three daughters

Amy Hill: oldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Hill, not yet out.

Elise Hill/Miss Hill: [Mrs. Hill in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], maid for the Gouldings at Ashworth, cousin to Mr. Hill

The Kings:

Mr. King: cobbler, married to Mrs. King, father to Hester, Cecilia and unnamed sons

Mrs. King: married to Mr. King, mother to Hester, Cecilia and unnamed sons

Hester King/Miss King: oldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. King, 20 years old

Cecilia King: youngest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. King

The Lucases:

William Lucas/Mr. Lucas: [Sir William Lucas in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], married to Charlotte, father to Charlotte, brother to Dorothy Hill, Joanna Goulding and Edith

Charlotte Lucas/Mrs. Lucas: [Mrs. Lucas in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], married to William, mother to Charlotte

Edith Lucas/Miss Lucas: spinster, lives with her brother William, 29 years old, sister to Dorothy Hill and Joanna Goulding

Charlotte "Lottie" Lucas: [Miss Charlotte Lucas in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], young daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lucas

The Pikes:

Percival Pike/Mr. Pike the elder (deceased): husband of Margaret, father of Percy and Mary

Margaret Pike/Mrs. Pike: self-appointed mistress of Longbourn, widow of Percival, sister of Leonard Bennet, aunt of Horace Bennet, mother of Percy and Mary

The Places:

Mr. Place (deceased): former bookseller in Meryton, married to Jane, father of Catherine and Mary Gardiner

Jane Place/Mrs. Place (deceased): briefly kitchen assistant at Longbourn, mother of Catherine and Mary Gardiner

Catherine Place: housekeeper at Netherfield Park, sister to Mary Gardiner

The Robinsons:

Mr. Robinson (deceased): husband to Mrs. Robinson and father to John

Mrs. Robinson: mistress of Purvis Lodge, widow of Mr. Robinson, mother of several daughters and one son

John Robinson/Mr. Robinson: master of Purvis Lodge, youngest child of Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, friend of Horace Bennet, secretly courting Miss Watson

Minor Characters:

Admiral Edward Boscawen: commanded the fleet that engaged in the Battle of Lagos, flagship _Namur_ and later _Newark_ , real historical figure

Guy Carter (deceased): lieutenant on the _Namur_ , midshipman with Leonard

Mr. Ham: butcher, two-time widower

Miss Harrington: a young woman being courted by Mr. Goulding

Jenny: maid of all trade to the Gardiners

Mrs. Long: married to Mr. Long, mother to infant son

Patience Oakley: personal maid to Mrs. Pike

Mr. Phillips: [Mr. Phillips in _Pride and Prejudice_ ], clerk to Edward Gardiner

Peter Puget: third lieutenant on the _Discovery_ , real historical figure

David Trowbridge: landowner, father to unnamed son and Elizabeth Bennet

George Vancouver: captain of the _Discovery_ , real historical figure

Eugenia Watson/Miss Watson: secretly courting John Robinson

Mrs. Webb: Longbourn's housekeeper


	3. Chapter 1

_This prequel is a revision of the story I posted a few months ago, which has a substantial amount of new content and an expanded ending. For details on why it is rated "M" see the explanatory notes. It is a WIP only because I am still tweaking the last few chapters. Because it is largely done, it will be up to you how often I post updates. After the first three chapters (starting with this one, which I am posting simultaneously), I will post at least weekly. However, if you all are really enjoying the story, I will move up the next posting date and post a new chapter for every ten reviews (at least until I've gotten through all the material that is already ready to go)._

 _I did not follow fan tradition on Mr. Bennet's and the future Mrs. Bennet's first names. They are Horace Bennet and Jane Gardiner. You will see other familiar names, but don't get confused, we are staying with the parents and grandparents and the repetition of names is because all of the Bennet daughters are named for their mother's and father's relatives. Additionally, you will see familiar family names as many of the inhabitants of Meryton have been there for generations._

 **Chapter 1**

"It is as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one," said Jane's mother, Mary Gardiner, a sensible and practical woman, as she sat on the side of her daughters' bed, rubbing her oldest daughter's back as she sobbed into her pillow.

"In each generation a woman ought to marry up if she can. I did well to marry your father, as a man with a reasonably profitable trade is preferable to one that is a house servant. If I had married one of them, I would have forever been an upstairs maid."

Jane Gardiner was not listening. She was mourning the loss of Colonel Millar's regiment. She sobbed louder to show her mother how truly upset she was.

Mrs. Gardiner paused in the rubbing of Jane's back. She really ought to check on whether their maid of all trade, Jenny, was being diligent at her work; she tended to slow down when unobserved. Mrs. Gardiner also needed to give some attention to Lydia who was also sobbing from her location on the other side of the bed.

"Keep rubbing," Jane urged, "it helps a little."

Mrs. Gardiner resumed her efforts. "There is a good future prospect for either of you girls. Horace Bennet will be back from Cambridge in about a fortnight. When he returns home to Longbourn, or within a few years of that time, he is sure to be seeking a bride. It would behoove you both to consider how to attract him. He may not look as handsome as a man in a red coat, but he will be able to afford the things my daughters deserve."

"Horace is ugly," Lydia commented, looking up at her mother, "he frowns too much."

"Any man will be more attractive if he smiles," Mrs. Gardiner replied. "If you can put a smile upon young Mr. Bennet's face, it means he has noticed you. And I know that if there is one thing my daughters excel at, it is attracting the notice of men."

Lydia smiled for just a moment at this, before lowering her head back to her pillow and attempting to think sad thoughts to generate more tears.

"Go ahead and mourn for Colonel Millar's regiment. I know our assemblies will be quieter without those men. However, by tomorrow I will have no more of that. You must begin to be more practical. The life of an army bride is not one to be envied, never settled in one place for long if you wish to be by your husband, or continually missing him if you settle in one location."

As she rubbed Jane's back, Mary Gardiner considered whether perhaps Lydia's brightened mood related to the fact that Mr. Phillips, her husband's clerk, would be dining with the family on the morrow. While Lydia was still too young to wed and not even out, though she was perhaps old enough at age sixteen, Mrs. Gardiner had noticed that the last time Mr. Phillips dined with them, a month earlier, by the end of the evening he was finally returning Lydia's glances and smiles.

Mrs. Gardiner was a firm believer in waiting until the older daughter wed before allowing the younger daughter out. However, Mr. Phillips was almost family. He would not be a step up in status for Lydia, but if they were to wed, she could preserve her status.

Although her husband hoped their son Ernest Edward could build upon the Gardiner law practice as he had, Mrs. Gardiner did not think that likely, given Earnest's lack of interest. However, he was yet young so his father might still hope. Perhaps Mr. Phillips, if wed to Lydia, could succeed to the business.

Having sorted out the future course of Lydia's life, Mrs. Gardiner decided to match Jane with Horace Bennet. Although Jane had snubbed the other local men most vigorously in favor of the officers, Mr. Horace had not seen that. If Jane could be encouraged to attract him when he first returned home, she might indeed land him when the other goose cap girls were still thinking of the absent officers.

While Horace Bennet was a scholar, and Jane was not that well-read, it did not signify much. Men did not expect their wives to be learned like themselves. And after all, Horace was a man like any other and her Jane was certainly beautiful, with her dark eyes and dark hair paired with porcelain skin. She was also well endowed in the aspects that men seemed to find attractive, ripe and ready for marriage at almost nineteen. Yes, Horace was certainly the best prospect for her Jane.

"I would be well pleased if both my daughters married well and settled near me," Mrs. Gardiner commented, "Horace Bennet would certainly do for you, Jane." Giving Jane's back one last rub, she arose to check on their maid.


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Horace Bennet, whose life went on as it always had after his grandfather passed, was unprepared for the black edged letter telling him his mother died during his first term at Cambridge. He wore a black arm band and remained silent, unwilling to discuss the ripping and rending sensation that griped him.

A cascade of memories would engulf him if he let them. His mother reading him stories, his mother teaching him his letters, his mother quizzing his tutor, his mother packing his favorite books for school, the letters he received in her hand which when he read silently were voiced by her. He could not live there.

He walled his vision with numbers, equations, letters, words, sentences and paragraphs. Euclid, Latin conjugations, Homer and Socrates cloaked him. When forced to participate in society his face wore a habitual frown and he let memorized words without emotion float in his vision.

Horace found upon graduating from Cambridge that he was one of the wranglers, taking top honors. It bemused him that he had become the student his mother always wanted him to be.

Horace tried to concentrate on packing up his belongings for his final return to Longbourn. Cambridge would now only be a place he remembered in his mind, peopled with professors, many superimposed on each classroom over the years Horace spent there, with the other young men blurred away, the sound of the learned men's words floating, hovering in the air much like the words he read in books lingered like smoke.

Yet Horace returned home as he must for a new set of lessons under his father's tutelage, to become the master of the estate. Leonard Bennet was no scholar and would have been plucked.

The lessons Leonard delivered were dull and left Horace with unanswered questions. Unanswered because his father had never cared to learn the answers, or if he knew them, did not care to share them, telling him: "That is the way we have always done it," or "That is just the right way to do it," or "Stop asking pointless questions and pay attention."

When they did not talk about the estate, each Bennet man passed the other with a nod and silence. Although his Aunt Margaret Pike now lived with them served as hostess, she was a stern sort of woman who while she maintained the running of the household, did not add any warmth to it.

Though Longbourn had a reasonable selection of books, Leonard only read from his handsome leather-bound copies of _A Voyage Towards the South Pole and Round the World, Volumes 1 and 2_ though their gilded spines only read _Cook's Voyage_.

Soon after acquiring those volumes as directly from the printer, his father hired an eminent London painter to reproduce in a colored painting a black and white engraving in one of the books, called "The Ice Islands." Leonard lectured the painter, explaining what colors should be used to depict the ship, its sails, the sea and the men's slops. He also requested that the ship be moved closer and thus enlarged. The result was a large oil painting that adorned their sitting room, replacing a drawing of a ship Leonard had made that had hung there as for as long as Horace remembered.

The painting showed a large wooden ship with many sails positioned away from four smaller boats (his father said they were skiffs which were rowed) in a dark blue-green sea. The closest skiff was in the foreground and much larger than Captain Cook's ship. It and the next closest skiff showed men suspended in mid-action. One man at the very front of the closest skiff was leaning back and swinging with a large axe in an arc over his head to break apart some of the ice (if he leaned back much further to take the swing he would impale another man whose back was to him an apparently oblivious to the danger) and another man in the rear of the boat was pointing (was it at the axe swinging, or at some more distant sight). In the other skiff a man was firing a musket with a puff of smoke emerging from its barrel. Looming over the men and the ship was a huge projecting irregular block of ice in white and shadows, framed by stormy looking skies.

Horace always noticed the birds in the painting. The two largest and darkest birds, whose black bodies contrasted nicely with the sky, appeared to be more distant above the towering ice than other smaller birds in front of the ice and dark sea. As he grew older, he considered whether perhaps they were not above the block of ice but just seemed this way. Perhaps the man with the musket was firing on one of the birds. Sometimes things that seemed distant were actually close, but such could not be determined from this still scene.

Oddly, the smaller birds that were against the ice were dark, but the ones against the sea were white. When the painting first appeared he did not notice this detail, but once he did it always drew his eye. Why would white birds only fly by a dark ocean and dark birds only by the white ice? It did not make any sense to him. Were they different species or did the original artist (the same detail was present in the book) purposely depict the birds in different shades to make them more visible? And why were the largest birds seemingly larger than the skiff nearest to the ship?

When Horace pictured his father, his back was to Horace and he was staring at the painting, always positioned to the left, making the sailing ship directly in front of him, thus blocking the ship and the largest black birds from Horace's view. In such a position, it was as if the tiny man with the musket was firing at his father.

While Horace's mother yet lived, his father would stop staring at the painting anytime she entered the room. He would turn at the slight sound of her tread upon their floorboards (so much softer for her smaller size than that of Horace or the servants), then Leonard's expression would soften upon seeing her. He would always offer his arm and beam as she accepted.

However, after Mrs. Bennet died, Horace caught his father spending hours gazing upon the painting. When Horace entered the room, his father might give a quick glance in his direction to confirm who it was, only to turn back to his contemplation.

The last time Horace was at Longbourn, Leonard talked to him twice while contemplating the painting, saying, "Horace, I would happily leave Longbourn behind to be the coxswain of that skiff, or any kind of lowly sea crab" and, "When you have finished your education and are ready to manage Longbourn on your own, I shall be off to the sea again. I was much delayed by the duty I owed your grandfather and your mother."


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Rated "M"_

Leonard no longer needed to stare at the painting to see each detail of the ship. Nothing changed there while he aged, though now he had to stand a little further back to focus on the details.

He had never been expected to inherit, had imagined feeling the rolling waves beneath his feet for all time except when in port. While he knew all sailors either died or eventually returned to the land when broken-down old men, he never imagined living long enough to be turned ashore.

Leonard's older brothers though born years apart were forever linked together in his mind as Thomas and John. They were responsible young men, with soft, respectful voices, had a quiet admiration for the land. Thomas and John rode on staid horses, mended fences, prepared to serve Longbourn though John was also for the church. Margaret embroidered and played the piano forte, her skirts always perfectly arranged. Leonard was the pin basket.

Leonard climbed to the tops of masts, surveyed distant lands, jumping down when called to dinner yet many feet from the ground. Thomas and John could not see right. They thought Leonard's masts were trees.

When old enough, his father Phineas Bennet was quick to pay for Leonard to attend the Royal Navy Academy and send him on his way.

When Thomas and John were in their graves and he returned as ordered, Phineas told him: "Leonard, I am glad you have come. I know you will do your duty properly yet may be tempted to abandon it once I am gone. Losing two sons is too much. As Margaret is properly settled my last remaining duty is to the land. I will gladly join your brothers and your mother when God ordains (though I wish it might be soon), but I am determined that Longbourn must stay in the hands of Bennet men. Your duty now is to the land. To fulfill it you must seek a wife and begin producing the next generation of Bennets."

Leonard felt in that pronouncement his father saw him as mere breeding stock for the estate. John had a wife Leonard never met. She had produced no son, had chosen to return to her family.

Yet Leonard also had a strong sense of duty, even if lately that duty had been focused on serving the captain and the crew, yet was not his father another sort of captain, the estate his ship? Thus, he found himself traveling to London for the season as ordered, acting the dutiful son sent to find and retrieve a wife, even as he wished to travel to Portsmouth or Plymouth instead.

Being so many years at sea, Leonard did not feel very comfortable speaking to women. He knew himself ugly as a result of a large scar upon his face from when his ship was attacked.

He saw the pinkened puckered gash and its effects every day when he shaved. The scar was diagonal, slicing from an inch into his hairline, where mostly hidden by his dark hair, through his left eyebrow and ending just below his ear. It caused his left eyelid to droop. Leonard knew his proper wig could not hide much of his scar and he did not look as a gentleman should.

His father's connections and his hosting by an uncle gained him admittance to some balls, but maidens avoided his gaze. He knew his consequence was too small to help any woman, or her father, overlook his appearance.

When introduced to Miss Trowbridge, a pleasant looking but unremarkable smallish sort of woman who was dwarfed by her fashionable wig and panniers, he noted that her eyes, a light blue, met his. He asked her to dance.

Elizabeth Trowbridge was the daughter of a wealthier landowner, David Trowbridge. It was her third season and she had become ambivalent about securing a husband. She found most willing dance partners dull, old as her father, or desperately hoping she might have a large dowry based upon the consequence of her father.

She knew she was no great beauty and hobbled by her teeth. Every time she spoke or smiled her mother's many lectures overlay her thoughts: "Lizzy, smile with closed lips and remain mostly silent. Men do not want to hear your wit, they want to be the clever ones. Be clever enough to close your bone box."

Though her mother had never told her, Elizabeth knew an additional mark against her making a smart match was that, should she attract a suitable suitor, she lacked a suitable dowry. She knew after her first season during which she received only two male callers and no offers, that her father's sudden investments in expanding the estate for her brother to inherit meant there was no longer a ready supply of funds for her dowry.

She supposed it was most logical on his part as she was unlikely to marry anyone who would improve his connections or raise her brother's consequence. While he did not lecture her like her mother did, his eyes glided away from her when she entered a room.

Elizabeth could not obey. She needed her words, to give her opinions even it was not strictly fashionable to do so. If her teeth scared off a potential suitor, far better that it be sooner and not after her hopes were raised.

When Elizabeth was introduced to Leonard, she was intrigued upon learning he spent time in the navy. When he asked her to dance, she thought she might at least have a lively conversation with a man who clearly had a story behind the scar upon his face.

Leonard was happy to finally be dancing with a woman who looked at him. He found her attractive when she asked, "Will you tell me of your time in the navy?" and listened intently to his answer.

Leonard knew he could gain Miss Trowbridge's hand when she smiled widely at a comment he made, and he saw her teeth. Having seen while in the navy that appearance did not show worth as the most unattractive officers were often the most competent, he was able to look past her teeth when she smiled and laughed.

Before they parted, he asked, "May I call on you?"

She nodded, smiled and gave him the address.

It did not take many calls for Leonard to propose to Miss Trowbridge. He found he liked her companionship and he liked how he was in her company. He found that when he made a joke, she could add a little extra twist to it to extend the laughter. When she laughed, her laughter swept through her and small bits of her blonde hair came loose. He found himself wanting to tuck those bits of hair behind her ears, caress her face. When he incorporated her improvements to his stories into the telling of them, he began to be known for his wit.

Elizabeth knew she would be reduced in status if she were to marry Mr. Bennet but she did not care; in the life he described she could be useful and he willingly listened to her.

Leonard did not love Miss Trowbridge (though he wanted to possess her), and Elizabeth did not love Mr. Bennet (but found he accepted her as she was). The lack of love did not matter to either of them. Thus, when he proposed, she willingly accepted and as she was of age and Leonard did not try to negotiate a higher dowry than her father was willing to bestow, it was a simple matter for them to get married.

Leonard knew Elizabeth was cleverer than he but knew anything she did well would be credited to him as Captain of Longbourn. She quickly proved herself to be an adept first lieutenant by reading about and interpreting farming techniques and land management for him. It was far pleasanter to hear her explanations than trying to glean anything from such dull books. She made up baskets for the tenants, distributed clothing to the poor and resolved many small matters on her own.

When he visited her chambers, once or twice a week, she was always cooperative in submitting to her duty. Yet he felt very much a greenhead in what he did there in imposing on her. As he indulged his passions, she was quiet, passive, stayed reclined. He felt there must be more to it than simply working his way into her bit by bit as she could take it, until the little death claimed him.

After more than two years of marriage their efforts were rewarded when Elizabeth became with child. Upon the advice of the midwife, they refrained from all further marital relations.

Horace delighted in seeing Elizabeth's belly swell with what he was sure would be his son. He often visited her chambers to stroke the curve as it grew. He would draw up her gown as she lay abed and pat the ripples that moved across her belly. He spent far more time leisure time with that swell than he previously had with her commodity.

Elizabeth submitted to the touches to her belly as she had submitted to his other attentions, but she found the softening around his eyes and gentle touch unintentionally made her long for his attentions, though not as they had been.

Days after their third anniversary, a day of travailing resulted in the birth of the Longbourn heir, who Leonard named Horace. Leonard resolved to be content knowing he had fulfilled his duty to his father who yet lived. Even when Elizabeth was well, he stayed away from her chambers.

Leonard felt a certain gnawing of his innards that had nothing to do with a hunger for food as he watched Elizabeth dote upon their son. He wanted her smiles, her laughter, her delight. He ached to have her hold him tight as she held their son. He understood how his Horace could not help but, once he learned to crawl, follow her from room to room as if attached by an invisible cord. Leonard, too, would follow where she would lead, if she would look at him as she did at Horace, but he remained silent and gave not words to his desire.

One evening several months after Horace was born, Elizabeth knocked on Leonard's chamber door. When he bid the unknown person to enter, he felt he was dreaming when Elizabeth, her skin luminescent in the moonlight, her golden hair greyed in the darkness but flowing down her back, walked toward him. She was clothed only in her shift whose color he could not identify.

He watched as she removed it and threw to the side. The movement caught his eyes and they followed it as the thin material arched through the air, cartwheeled widely and landed in a reckless, tumbled heap.

His eyes slowly returned to her form, bathed in shadows and light, rounder for having borne his son, familiar yet foreign as he had never seen her in all her glory, had only glimpsed bits of her when he visited her chambers. He felt his pego swell as she climbed upon his bed and upon him, only the counterpane separating them as he preferred to sleep sans clothing, though when he had been in the habit of visiting her for their marital duties, he always wore a nightshirt and only lifted her night rail to enter her.

When he remained still and uncertain, she placed his hands upon her dairy and backside. She sighed when he glided his hands over her body as he had glided them over her belly months before. It was she whose lips found his, though he was eager to drink.

When she lifted the counterpane and slid her body under it, he began shifting his body to climb upon hers, anxious to possess her, but she stilled him with a hand pressed flat against his chest. He lowered himself flat again.

It was she who caressed his silent flute, she who cupped his bawbles, she who thrust her dairy into his mouth and bid him suck, she who glided his fingers along her notch, she who climbed upon him, she whose nether regions slid against his tackle but did not admit his sugar stick and after a drenching from her slick pitcher, it was she who was finally the dragon upon St. George, giving him what he did not know he desired.

In the nights that followed, she continued to pilot his ship and he gratefully submitted to all her orders. It was a revelation.

During the day, their interactions continued much as before. Yet now, Leonard was always aware of where Elizabeth was in their house. If she could be seen, his eyes always sought her, if she could be heard, his ears listened for her and noted her step, a shift in her body as she sat. He smelled her scent on his sheets, in a chair where she sat earlier in the day. Her voice lingered in the air after it was silent, and he could hear it still.

When he was riding the estate, her moans from the night before echoed in his ears. When he absently stroked his horse's coat, it was her skin that he felt under his fingers.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mrs. Gardiner and her daughters were in the parlor when Mrs. King called with her two daughters, Miss King and Miss Cecilia. While the six of them were sipping chatter broth, Mrs. Gardiner anticipated that Mrs. King was working her way up to disclosing a juicy bit of gossip. She was rewarded when Mrs. King finally told her that Mrs. Long's travailing had resulted in a son named for his father. However, it was evident to Mrs. Gardiner that despite Mrs. King's best efforts, none of their daughters were paying any attention.

Jane was rubbing at a scab on the underside of her arm, not quite picking it as she knew she was forbidden from doing that, especially not in front of company, but seeing if nevertheless if she could dislodge it. Lydia was itching at the ribbon that secured her left stocking which her mother had retied tighter over her knee than she liked. The King daughters were sitting pleasantly enough, hands demurely in their laps, but appeared on the verge of falling asleep now that their tea had been drunk.

Mrs. King started to rise to depart and gestured her daughters to rise likewise. With groans, the Miss Kings began a show of preparing to stand up.

Mrs. Gardiner was familiar with this gambit of Mrs. King and knew it to be a feigned departure as the tea pot was not quite empty yet. However, she pretended to be taken in by it.

"Are you sure you must go?"

As Mary Gardiner expected, as soon as the Miss Kings were up, Mrs. King sat down again, exclaiming, "Dear me, I forgot to mention that young Mr. Bennet has returned home." She lifted her empty tea cup and Mary Gardiner poured the very last bit into it.

Mrs. Gardiner kept her face bland, although inwardly she was rejoicing and planning.

She merely commented, "His father must be pleased."

"Yes, I expect so, although his aunt was complaining that their laundress was kept busy washing his clothes which were in quite a state. It seems he arrived home to Longbourn two days ago and it looked like his garments were hardly laundered while he was away."

Mrs. Gardiner thought to herself, being a man of course he does not think on such things; he needs a wife to manage such things for him, such a task would not be beyond my Jane. But then it occurred to her that likely young Mr. Bennet would have a valet now that he was home. And if he had a valet, his wife would have her own abigail.

Mrs. King continued, "I expect our assemblies could be enlivened with him in attendance, my Hester found the last once quite dull now that the officers are gone."

At the word "officers" Jane sat up a little, left off what had become full-fledged picking of her scab, and contributed for the first time to the conversation.

"Oh, why did the officers have to leave? Who is there left to dance with?"

"Perhaps Horace Bennet," Mrs. King commented, "now that he has returned."

Mrs. King was familiar with daughters pretending to listen but dwelling elsewhere in their minds until their names or a single word or phrase roused them from some more entertaining contemplation.

Mrs. Gardiner knew it would not do for Mrs. King to think of dancing in connection with Horace Bennet. Dancing led to admiration and admiration to courtships and proposals. She did not want Mrs. King to think of her own daughters dancing with young Mr. Bennet.

So, she said, "He is a quiet bookish sort, a bit boring. I doubt he even knows how to dance."

Mrs. Gardiner decided she would need to have a serious talk with Jane after Mrs. King left. She skillfully turned the discussion to how the oldest King son was doing at learning the gentle craft from his father. It was a good choice of topic and Mrs. King happily spoke about her son's facility at learning to mend shoes, a task to be mastered before he became a full-fledged shoemaker as all the Kings before him.

Mrs. Gardiner waited until later in the day when she and Jane were alone in the parlor, both working on embroidering handkerchiefs, to bring up the topic that was foremost on her mind. She knew that when Jane's hands were occupied it was the best time to talk with her.

"Jane," she began, knowing she would need to approach the matter in such a way as to obtain her daughter's best behavior, "I have been thinking that we need to re-trim your bonnet."

"But we do not have any good ribbons left, Mother," Jane replied, exaggerating her pouty lips in a manner garnered to secure sympathy, "and no one is using that dreadful color of satin for lining anymore. I need new ribbons and satin."

"I am afraid, Jane, that we will just have to use what we have, unless of course there is a reason I can give your father for why you need to look your best."

"Mother, there is no one to look good for, anymore, now that Colonel Millar's regiment has left. I thought Mr. Goulding not too bad, but now I have heard he is courting Miss Harrington."

Mrs. Gardiner sighed a little then. It was obvious that Jane had either paid no mind to her earlier advice about securing Horace Bennet's good opinion once he returned, given several times, or was purposely ignoring it. She waited a moment to prevent herself from raising her voice in exasperation.

"Jane, were you listening to Mrs. King earlier?"

"Of course, Mother," Jane lied.

"She told us some very important news, do you recall what it was?" Mrs. Gardiner tested, wondering why her daughters were so hubble-bubble about everything.

Jane screwed up her forehead in concentration and tried to connect those few bits of conversations she had heard. "Someone had a baby," she answered, smiling in triumph, she had shown her mother!

"Yes Jane, Mrs. Long had a son. Do you recall the other most important piece of news?"

Jane shook her head, "It has just been hard to think about anything since the officers left," she lied, purposely drooping her lower lip. In fact, when she picked at her scab earlier she had been thinking about taking a walk later after Lydia finished her lessons and wondering if there might be anything new in the shop windows.

"Mrs. King mentioned that Horace Bennet has returned home. Do you not recall that I told you the younger Mr. Bennet was returning home from Cambridge?"

"Who is that again?" Jane, who had set down her embroidery at the first opportunity that the conversation presented, bit the end of her finger, worrying at a bit of her cuticle as she thought.

Mrs. Bennet thought it a disgusting and very unladylike habit and normally would have said something but that would have thwarted direction she intended for the conversation. Thank goodness that when in public Jane's gloves covered the mess she had made of her nails.

Was Jane purposely being difficult or could she truly not recall? Mrs. Gardiner decided that it did not matter; she would have to explain again in either event.

"Horace Bennet, the son of Mr. Bennet; they live at Longbourn. He is single and the heir to the estate."

Mrs. Gardiner watched her daughter intently as she thought and thought, moving onto the next nail. Oh dear, Mrs. Gardiner thought, she really does not remember. Have patience, she told herself, you were young and silly once yourself.

She tried to ignore the thought that she had often that she did not recall being nearly as pudding-headed as her daughters, but of course she had already been working as a domestic for several years before she reached Jane's current age. She had no choice if she wished to have a place to live and food to eat. It was the luxury of not having to be employed that must have accounted for their silliness.

"Is his father the man with the big scar?" Jane finally answered, having worked her way through the fingers of one hand.

"Yes, but that is not something to mention in polite company."

Jane considered some more, itching at a different spot on her arm whose scab had not yet been picked. "I do not know if I can remember what his son looks like."

Mrs. Gardiner could picture Horace, but his features were all rather ordinary, except for . . . "He has blonde hair, just like his mother did."

"Was she the lady with the bad teeth that crossed in the front?" Jane left off her picking, opened her top lip wide and crossed her two index fingers over her front teeth to demonstrate.

"Yes," Mrs. Gardiner replied, trying not to notice the raw edges of Jane's nails. Why was it that her daughter only recalled Horace's family by their worst features? Well at least she was recalling them at last.

"I think I remember him," her daughter finally answered.

Mrs. Gardiner gave a tiny relieved sigh. She was more convinced than ever that she would have to act if Jane was to find a proper husband.

"Horace Bennet will be looking for a wife and I mean for you to secure him at the first opportunity."


	7. Chapter 5

_If I get five reviews of this chapter, I will post the next chapter early. Otherwise I will keep to the schedule of posting a chapter every Thursday._

 **Chapter 5**

Horace walked to Meryton and spent the bulk of his time in Mr. Hill's bookstore. Things there remained very much as they always had, though he did notice that some girls he remembered before were now young ladies. He did not talk to any of them, but amiably nodded to acknowledge them.

Although he perused many books, he only bought two volumes of poems. The first was meaningful to him because he knew his mother's fondness for this ancient Roman lyrical poet had inspired his name. He cradled it to his chest for a moment, feeling a warmth for his mother bloom in him, before self-consciously lowering his arm. The second was Shakespeare's sonnets, as Longbourn lacked a copy.

Horace had not traveled more than a dozen strides outside the bookstore when he happened upon his friend John Robinson, who had lately succeeded to Purvis Lodge. John still wore his black arm band.

They spoke for a few moments and Horace extended his condolences in person, even as his mind drifted to his mother and the books he held. While he wished to be of service to his friend, it quickly became apparent to Horace that John was anxious to attend to whatever business he had in Meryton. What Horace did not know was that John had arranged with Miss Watson to meet her "accidentally" at the book seller's shop and speaking with Horace was making him late.

When Horace returned to Longbourn he went back to his chambers and opened _The Works of Horace_ as translated by Christopher Smart. He tried to read the odes, to become absorbed in words his mother read, to distract himself from his current worry that had also been his purpose in going to Meryton. And yet, though his eyes read the words, he could not hear them in his head.

Instead Horace kept hearing, "Soon, soon." These were the words he overheard his father say that morning as he gazed at the painting, seemingly unaware that Horace was passing by the sitting room.

Horace contemplated those words, "Soon, soon" as the book lay open and forgotten on his lap. He wondered if his father had a fixed plan to depart or was only anticipating that he could soon begin making plans.

When Horace pictured his father at sea, he imagined every way his father could be injured or perish: His ship surrounded, all the different armaments his father had spoken being aimed and fired at his father. A mighty blast from a cannon concussing the ship and launching a whole bevy of splinters, seeking to pierce his father's flesh. His father wounded, bloody, as a boarding party came upon him, aimed and fired their muskets at him or cut his throat with a sword, later his body unceremoniously dumped into the deep. Punishments at his captain's direction with the cat of nine tails. Waves tossing the ship, threatening to capsize it. A hurricane, a ship wreck, scurvy and his teeth falling out.

Horace did not understand why his father should wish to return to such a hostile place. Yet even should no calamity befall him, Horace had no hope that once his father left that he would ever wish to return to England's shores when there were the West Indies and other places to explore. He could picture his father as a mate on some sloop traveling between islands or serving on a Guineaman, with hundreds of slaves in the hold beneath Leonard's feet, just for the adventure of traveling to Africa and lands beyond it.

Horace did not want his father to go, but it was inevitable unless Horace could figure out what would motivate his father to remain at Longbourn. He knew from experience that when he had a difficult problem to resolve that he just needed to occupy himself with something else and eventually the answer would come to him.

Feeling somewhat settled, Horace was able to take up his book again and understand what he read, even if the words did not stay with him very long. He also remained sociable enough, taking breakfast, tea and dinner with his father and aunt, but mostly keeping to himself the rest of the time and trying to enjoy his books.

The next day Horace was again reading the odes. He especially liked the odes for Lydia, who appeared to be an unrequited love for Horace, and was re-reading one of those, when unbidden he thought about how in the book of _Genesis_ God determined that Adam was not meant to be alone.

It occurred to Horace that his father's wanderlust had been suppressed for the sake of his mother. The clear solution was that his father needed to remarry. This solution would also have the added benefit of giving them a reason to evict Mrs. Pike and send her to live with one of her grown children instead. Almost any woman had to be preferable to her.

Now Horace needed to figure out a suitable candidate. A local woman, a widow or a spinster would make the most sense for his father, Horace thought, as he knew his father would not seek out a woman on his own and would probably have more luck with someone grateful for the attention. Too, the local ladies were at least familiar with him and did not shrink back in fear or disgust.

Horace was used to his father's appearance and it bothered him not in the least. However, he knew even though age had smoothed father's scar somewhat and lessened its redness, that with his father's receding hairline the wide split there was more obvious, and with age his sagging eyelid nearly blocked his vision on that side.

Horace remembered an incident that forever marred his opinion of the citizens of London. His father had taken him to town on some business and as they were walking past some stores, their path took them near a group of women walking in the opposite direction. Horace took note of the women as they were dressed very finely and had elaborate hair styles. The three women were certainly of high status though why exactly they were important Horace did not know. While their expressions were pleasant and they continued to talk amongst themselves when they saw him, he could tell the moment that they noticed his father, who had been turned toward a shop window for a moment, advance in their direction as they suddenly became silent.

Once Horace and his father were beyond them and walking away from them, the women voiced their displeasure while he and his father could still hear them. "They should kill them if they look that ugly," one woman commented. "He should cover his face," her friend responded. "That poor son," the third added, "who could stand to look at that face every day? I hope his mother is blind."

As his father made no comment, Horace made no comment either, just felt a thickness deep in his throat, a lump he could not swallow away.

Horace noticed that since his mother's death his father stayed close to Longbourn. This had suited Horace just fine as when he returned home for a visit, he was content to sit and read. However, now he knew he would have to be the one to get his father out into Meryton if he was ever to find him a new wife.

He wondered if Mrs. Robinson might have any interest in his father but discounted her almost immediately. If he was not mistaken, she was a few years older than his father as John was the youngest child and his eldest sister had a daughter almost ready to enter society herself. Also, the elder Mr. Robinson had been a handsome man and Mrs. Robinson was still in mourning. While there was yet no bride for John, she was still the mistress of Purvis Lodge.

A suitable candidate would need to be elevated by her marriage to his father and appreciate it. Horace resolved to carefully examine which single women might be a good match for his father and make sure to place his father where he might encounter them.

Horace decided he would start by getting his father to attend church. So, on Saturday Horace mentioned at the dinner table that he planned to attend, knowing that his aunt attended every week. Mrs. Pike believed in observing everything deemed proper, though Horace privately wondered if she would benefit more from acting kindly toward others than rigidly attending every service.

Mrs. Pike then observed with a sniff, "It is gratifying to know that all the Bennet men do not defy God's commands."

Horace ignored her and addressed his father. "Father, I would be pleased if you joined us tomorrow. Perhaps we might take the carriage into the countryside after the service."

Mr. Bennet who really had nothing better to do, had no particular objection to attending a service other than having time away from his sister and irritating her. He was glad to see his son express an interest in something other than his books. He shrugged and said, "I suppose I will go." It would not hurt, he thought, to see his acquaintances a time or two before he departed.

Leonard had sent letters of inquiry about the availability of booking passage on a voyage to retrace recent exploratory voyages. There were various destinations that interested him, places like those visited by Captain Cook in his three voyages: Tahiti, New Zealand, near the Antarctic circle, and the Sandwich Islands. He knew his countrymen were still searching for the northwest passage. Leonard would take any adventure offered.

Perhaps it was a forlorn hope at his age of five and forty, but Leonard wondered whether there was any way he might be able to be a crewman again, he had been a lieutenant in hopes of promotion to a captaincy when his father recalled him. Or perhaps he could help fund an exploration and join it. He had saved money for his travels against the time when his son could assume his responsibilities.

Leonard was eager to have his life back. He had done his duty to his departed father and brothers by preserving Longbourn for another generation by tending to it, marrying, producing an heir and raising him to his majority. While Leonard enjoyed being married to Elizabeth, looking back on his married life now that she was no longer there, tangible, present and warm, it felt like his life had been arrested during that time, that he had been trapped at Longbourn and he was ready for his life to begin again.


	8. Chapter 6

_My regular posting schedule is every Thursday; I would like to post more frequently but it is up to you to make it happen. If I get 4 reviews on Chapter 6, I will post it the day I see that last review._

 **Chapter** **6**

On Sunday morning Mrs. Gardiner coached Jane one last time. "Remember, Jane, it is likely that Horace Bennet will attend church with his aunt, Mrs. Pike. Make sure that you greet his aunt and welcome young Mr. Bennet back to the neighborhood with a warm smile. If, perchance, his father should be present, do not stare at his scar but greet him also with the politeness that you would give a dear uncle. Remember that young Mr. Bennet's family can be your allies in gaining his interest."

Jane sighed and pouted again. "Mother, how can I fall in love with him, when I hardly remember him?"

"What is not to love in a man who can give you a carriage, a house full of servants to cater to you every need, new gowns and bonnets by the dozens?" Mrs. Gardiner asked.

"Longbourn has fine fields, many tenants and the fruits of its fields can fund all this and more. You will be the most important lady in the area when you become mistress of Longbourn. His mother was treated well by his father; though he may look like a wretch, he is kind. Horace will be kind to you and is much more pleasing to look at. He has lovely hair, fall in love with that. Imagine having fine children with his golden hair, a bonny son who takes care of you when your husband is gone. I fell in love with your father for much less."

Jane brightened when her mother reminded of all the material advantages of such a match.

"Be friendly and charming, but not too forward. Pay attention to anything he says and encourage him to talk. Act like he is fascinating. Do what you can to make him smile. His father is known for his wit and perhaps young Mr. Bennet may be similar. A smile and a little laugh, politely concealed behind your hand, may intrigue him."

Jane's brow frowned in concentration as she tried to memorize her mother's wisdom. She could imagine herself as the mistress of Longbourn, with many fine things. In her imaginings she hardly thought of young Mr. Bennet at all. He was merely the threshold she would have to pass to gain the kingdom.

The Gardiner family and most local families walked to church as they had no carriage. They used a hired hack when needed.

Mr. Edward Gardiner escorted Mrs. Gardiner, with the two Miss Gardiners just behind them escorted by their younger brother Earnest. In this way Earnest both played the gentleman and was hemmed in by his sisters from wandering off to see his friends that were also walking to church.

Earnest in truth should have been known as Master Edward Gardiner as he was named for his father, but his mother found it awkward to have two Edwards in their home and she was not fond of the common nicknames of Ed or Eddie.

Her son had earned the nickname Earnest Edward when yet a lad of only three for the solemn expression on his face when doing certain tasks to the best of his ability. For a long time, he was called by both names but gradually he became Earnest. Now a young man of twelve years, he hated the nickname but knew better than to tell his mother that.

Jane received her opportunity to use her mother's advice when her mother drew her to a small knot of people conversing just inside the church. She saw Mrs. King and her daughters, Hester and Cecilia, speaking with a rather short man who still had the slimness of youth, with nice blonde hair and light blue eyes, and an older looking lady who she instantly categorized as unpleasant by the pinched way she held her lips and tightened brow. They must be the younger Mr. Bennet and his aunt, she surmised.

An older man, whom she identified as the elder Mr. Bennet by his scar, stood nearby and seemed disinterested. Mrs. Gardiner drew her daughter near him, on his more becoming right side, while waiting for an opening to address young Mr. Bennet and assist her daughter in securing him before Mrs. King foisted one of daughters on him.

"Good morning Mr. Bennet," Mrs. Gardiner addressed the elder, "I have hardly seen you these last few years." They both knew she was alluding to his withdrawal from society after the death of his wife. "Do you remember my daughter Jane?"

He nodded and Mrs. Bennet nudged Jane to get her to add her own comment.

"Good morning Mr. Bennet." She gave him a bright smile, imagining him as an indulgent father figure when she became mistress of Longbourn.

He smiled back and Jane was surprised to notice that he did look more pleasant when he did so, which gave her the courage to add, "I hear your son has lately returned."

The three of them talked a bit more, but Mr. Bennet hardly paid attention to the conversation. Maybe it was because he knew his long-awaited escape from Hertfordshire was nearly at hand or because a pretty young maid was paying him some attention, but he suddenly felt more vigorous and handsome, the conquering and triumphant hero in his own story. He noticed Miss Gardiner's nubile young body and felt an unbidden attraction but dismissed it almost immediately. He was old enough to be her father and then some. Unbeknownst to him then, a seed had been planted.

Horace Bennet was annoyed. He was stuck talking to Mrs. King and her insipid daughters, the Miss Kings, when he wanted to be looking around the church for a potential wife for his father. The elder, Miss Hester King, was much too young for his father at twenty and Miss Cecilia King was even younger.

Additionally, Horace did not think his father would want to marry the cobbler's daughters as there was nothing much about them to recommend them. Every topic of conversation went the same.

Mrs. King began, "What lovely weather we are having."

"Yes, lovely weather," said Miss King.

"Yes, very lovely weather," echoed Miss Cecilia.

"I wonder when we will have rain," commented Aunt Pike.

"Yes, I wonder when," said Miss King.

"When will it rain, do you think?" asked Miss Cecilia.

Instead of having only one boring medium length conversation, it seemed he was due to have one two times as long. Horace found himself nodding along, unwilling to say anything for fear of having it echoed by both the Miss Kings.

"We always have quite fine dinners on Sunday." Mrs. King commented, working her way up to forwarding her plan for capturing young Mr. Bennet for one of her daughters

"Quite fine dinners," Miss King added.

"Yes, very fine dinners," Miss Cecilia commented.

"My daughters both help to cook the dinners. Hester makes the best pies and will be making an apple pie today," Mrs. King told them, and before anyone could agree, asked, "Mr. Horace, could you (your whole family is invited), join us for Sunday dinner and try her pie?"

While the offer of a fine dinner might have tempted many a young man who might need a wife who could cook, it was not a tempting offer to Horace. Longbourn kept quite a fine cook and its mistress would not be expected to prepare any meals.

Horace stilled his head, which was about to nod along as it had through several topics of conversation and answered, "Unfortunately, I am otherwise engaged." He thought Mrs. King's invitation a rather forward move as he well knew that typically the person with the higher rank should make the first overture by waiting upon the one of lesser rank, calls would be exchanged, and then a tea might be attended, though such proprieties were not as strictly observed in Meryton.

"If you will excuse me, I see my friend Mr. Robinson and I have been meaning to speak to him." He did not wait for a reply and strode quickly away the few feet that separated him from his friend. Horace knew this might be perceived as a bit rude, but he did not care. He gleefully noticed (with a quick glance over his shoulder, just before he reached John) that his aunt remained speaking to Mrs. King and her daughters.

After a quick exchange with John, in which John appeared distracted, looking past the Kings, but to whom Horace could not determine, Horace in observing that his father was talking to two women decided to see who they were and if he could help forward any possible match there.

Horace edged himself closer to his father and his conversational partners. As Horace positioned himself to see their faces and was able to identify them, he determined his father hardly could have made a worse choice. Mrs. Gardiner was married, and Miss Gardiner was much too young for his father as she was of an age with Miss King and younger than himself. He noticed, though, that one of them had managed to make his father smile.

Horace paused for a moment from trying to spot widows and old maids for his father to take a closer look at Miss Gardiner. He noticed she had a more pleasing form than the Miss Kings, who were very angular and tall, both likely taller than him, though not as tall as his father. Miss Gardiner was a little shorter than him, with soft curves, rounded rosy cheeks and fine pale skin. She looked quite becoming in her light pink dress, her chocolate curls piled elaborately.

Mrs. Gardiner, who was not one to let any opportunity for matching her daughter pass her by, addressed him then. "Young Mr. Bennet, I am glad to see you back in Hertfordshire. I understand you will be helping your father manage Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner has done quite a bit of legal work for your father and grandfather and will be glad to work with you also. Do you remember my daughter, Jane?"

Jane obligingly turned in his direction, tipping her head slightly to one side and smiled sweetly, "Hello Mr. Bennet." Her smile was genuine as she was busy thinking about the life her mother had promised her if she should be matched to him.

Horace did remember Jane, though the last time he could recall seeing her, she was still in braids. He remembered she was usually a good-humored child and fearless. He realized she was quite a becoming young woman with enchanting dark eyes. He could not help but return her smile.

The service was about to begin, so there was not time for more of an exchange, but Mrs. Gardiner was well pleased with her daughter and with the Mr. Bennets also. Her Jane would win over the whole family, of this she was certain.

After the service Horace had a bit more luck. He spotted sisters Mrs. Goulding (the widow of the current Mr. Goulding's older brother) standing with spinster Miss Lucas and made his way over to them.

Not knowing what to speak with them about, he asked them, "Do you know when the next assembly will be held?" After they named the date he mentioned, "I hope to attend, along with my father." Then he excused himself as he saw his father glance at him from the back of the sanctuary.

This modest exchange was enough to make Miss Lucas think she had attracted Horace Bennet's interest and he was hinting that he would like to dance with her but was seeking the approval of his father before embarking on any courtship. Mrs. Goulding did not read as much into the conversation but found herself looking forward to becoming better acquainted with the younger Mr. Bennet. Both sisters knew that young Mr. Bennet was a most eligible and desirable match.

After he withdrew and they found themselves almost the last people within the church, Mrs. Goulding and Miss Lucas began discussing their prospects with Horace Bennet. Edith Lucas began, "Did you not see how young Mr. Bennet was admiring me? Ah, dancing with him at the assembly shall be divine. I would not be surprised if the bans might soon be called if things continue well from there."

Joanna Goulding tried to temper Edith from being unrealistic. "You have jumped rapidly from thinking him to be admiring you to marriage," she noted, "yet he has done nothing to raise your hopes but for simply being polite while conversing with you."

Joanna Goulding was tired of her sister Edith once again spinning a fantasy in which she was the object of a most eligible man's desire based on the exchange of just a few words. In Joanna's experience, it was best to help Edith see the situation more clearly before her feelings were hurt.

"Do I detect a bit of envy, you ace of spades?" Edith asked sharply. She did not like anyone interfering with her flights of fancy; even if nothing ever came of them, they gave her hope and lifted her spirits and she desperately needed to retain any bit of happiness she could garner, even if it was to be temporary.

Joanna had a headache and was not in the best of moods to begin with, so this tiny jab quickly caused her to become frustrated with her sister Edith. Thus, to temper Edith's enthusiasm rather than from any genuine expectation of such an outcome, Joanna asserted a bit louder, "Of course I will be Mr. Bennet's choice; he would like a bride who knows how to please a husband. I made my Virgil quite content."

Miss Lucas disagreed, raising her voice as well, "More like you bored him to death and bore no children besides or perhaps you combed his head overly much and handed him a dish of rails until he was ready to seek his heavenly reward just to get away from you. Mr. Horace would certainly prefer a maiden, lively and refined, who can give him an heir."

Mrs. Goulding objected, annoyed to have both her dead husband and marriage disparaged. She struck back in a way that she immediately knew was a mistake, "If you are so lively, why are you a tabby? How many years since your come out have you been left on the shelf? I was already married at sixteen and you are nine and twenty."

Before their disagreement escalated further, their oldest sister, Mrs. Hill, who had come back inside as their voices rose, intervened. She gave Joanna a sharp look, telling her to mind her tongue, before declaring, "Sisters, stop arguing. What is this all about?"

After they explained, Mrs. Hill opined, "When young Mr. Bennet spoke about the assembly to you earlier, he was just being polite; you both presume too much."

As Dorothy Hill calmed her sisters she reflected on if it was time for her oldest daughter to come out. Amy was right young at fifteen, but the matter would need to be considered.

Meanwhile, the Mr. Bennets and Mrs. Pike were taking their country carriage ride. Horace had no idea he had attracted so much attention. It did not occur to him that having completed Cambridge and then taking up management of one of the finest properties in the neighborhood while being single, made him a most eligible match. Instead, he was considering if either Mrs. Goulding or Miss Lucas might be a good match for his father and how he could determine whom his father would prefer.

Leonard was considering Miss Gardiner further. It occurred to him that if he could not find a suitable adventure, that his remaining life might be quite improved by a young wife. He imagined the envy the other local landowners, whose once young wives had grown coarse or fat, would feel if he had such a bride on his arm.

Leonard, like his son, also rated among the advantages of matrimony that he would have a good excuse to evict his sister who had ostensibly come for a visit to console him after Elizabeth died, but was now remaining indefinitely at Longbourn as its self-appointed mistress. As to Miss Gardiner herself and what her character was like, he did not think at all.

Margaret Pike knew that both her brother and nephew were most eligible, but she did not wish to see either of them marry. She had no desire to quit being mistress of Longbourn and return to live with one of her children. Her reasons were simple. Longbourn was by far a superior house to those occupied by her children and Leonard did not interfere with the domestic sphere so she could arrange all to her personal preference. Thus far, Horace seemed likely to do the same. If she lived with any of her children, she would be relegated to a small room, must defer to others and be expected to take an interest in grandchildren who cried when they saw her.

After her husband died, Margaret continued to live with her son Percy Pike at what originally had been her home with Mr. Pike. She had not taken kindly to being made to give way to her new upstart daughter who had the audacity to, within only a year of the marriage to Percy, produce twins, both of whom lived! And the younger Mrs. Pike still expected to run the household rather than letting Margaret do it as would only be right.

Then Mrs. Pike temporarily lived with her daughter Mary and her husband. However, she soon discovered that, horror of horrors, Mary had no nurse and only one nursemaid and expected her to help attend to her many sticky children so that Mary could focus more on her household responsibilities.

Mrs. Pike had happily relegated her own children once born to a wet nurse in the village, then a nurse and then a governess and instead redecorated and planned parties. She had no idea of how to soothe infants or feed them, or any inclination to learn such skills, but her daughter had aimed to teach her. So as soon as she learned Mrs. Bennet had died, she declared to her daughter that she was needed elsewhere and happily departed.

Mrs. Pike had seen both her brother Leonard and nephew Horace speaking to unmarried women and she aimed to prevent any matrimony from taking place and displacing her from her rightful position back in her family home. She resolved to carefully consider what could be done to discourage the Bennet men from all matrimonial intent.


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _"_ _M" chapter due to graphic description of amputations._

Leonard diligently tried to teach Horace all he could about how to manage the estate. They went over the books, met with tenants, discussed the practice that two fields should be planted, while the third field (rather than remaining fallow) would be planted with turnips to enrich the soil and provide food for the livestock, how seeds were preserved from the following spring and what proportion of crops were retained for the estate and its tenants and the proportion that were sold locally and in London.

While Horace tried to learn all that he could, he also tried to act as if it was taking him longer to master the essentials than it did. He wished to extend the period his father deemed necessary to educate him. Horace hoped that the longer it took, the more time he would have to interest his father in courting and marrying a local lady, and ultimately, staying at Longbourn permanently. Horace also tried to point out any signs of neglect that he noticed, in the hopes that his father would see that his personal attention to the estate was needed.

Horace noticed many signs of decay that had not been present while his mother yet lived: tenants' homes which needed new roofs, pastures where the fences needed to be repaired and stored grain that showed obvious signs of mice. His father did seem to take an interest in these things once Horace identified them.

His father shook his head softly in negation when Horace identified the last item of disorder in a long list. "Your mother always told me of the tenants' concerns when she visited; I dare say your aunt has been mostly concerned with the running of the house and not with the estate."

This was just the opening that Horace needed. "Father," he asked, "do you not believe that the estate needs a new mistress? There are many fine women who might be interested in the post."

Leonard was surprised that his son had noticed that Leonard had been paying attention to Miss Gardiner but would not question what seemed to be an endorsement. However, he then tried to evaluate Miss Gardiner as a potential mistress to the estate and discovered to his chagrin that he had very little notion as to whether she would be an improvement in this regard compared to his sister Margaret Pike.

An ideal mistress would have grown up on an estate learning to care for tenants from her mother. However, if that was the proper measure, his sister should be equally qualified, and she was not.

"Perhaps," he answered noncommittally. It then occurred to him that maybe Horace was hinting that Horace might wish to take a wife. Rather than asking directly, Leonard resolved to see if he could puzzle it out himself.

"What think you of Mrs. Goulding or Miss Lucas?" Horace asked. "They might think upon becoming a Mrs. Bennet with favor."

Leonard considered, while they were each older than his son, they might do for him or his son. Instead of answering that question he posed his own.

"How do you think it can best be determined who would be an appropriate mistress of an estate?"

Horace had been thinking about this same issue and it did not take him long to formulate an answer.

"She should be kind and genuinely interested in other people and intelligent enough to parse the truly important from the frivolous. She must by loyal and aid the master by advising him about matters he may have overlooked but never do so in front of others. She should willingly take on tasks of charity herself and not bother the master with small matters that she can address on her own."

"Ah, you have described your mother," the elder Mr. Bennet commented. He could then see his dear departed Lizzy as though right before him and a longing for what he could never have again erased all thought of Miss Gardiner from his mind. As he turned toward his son he thought, Horace has her eyes and hair, and even in his size resembles her, but the rest of him is me before that battle that marred me.

Leonard did not regret the actions that led to his scar. He was defending his country, helping to defend it against a threatened French invasion of England, with the Royal Navy opposing La Clue's ships and though the manner in which the scar was inflicted involved no bravery, just a matter of luck and timing, luck was with him that he had survived the Battle of Lagos in 1759 when many of his comrades did not, or if they lived, lived on with only three limbs.

Leonard remembered what had occurred clearly enough. He was serving on Admiral Edward Boscawen's flagship _Namur_ , a lovely ninety-gun second rate ship of the line. Horace had recently received word in a long-delayed letter that his second oldest brother had died due to an infected sore throat, months earlier; he was quietly mourning John's death while going about his duties. There was more time to think about his brother then because their ship was being stocked in port. Their sails were unbent and they were taking on water when word was received that La Clue's ships had been spotted passing through the straits of Gibralter.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as captains who were visiting his own ship tried to return to their own ships while he helped direct the bending of the sails so the _Namur_ could depart immediately. He remembered attending to his own duties calmly while excitement roared in his belly as they set off in pursuit with the other ships, all thoughts of his brother suspended for the moment.

They set out in the dark and chased La Clue's ships all night, gradually gaining on them. He remembered that as the _Namur_ approached the _Ocean_ , the captain ordered all who were not then needed to lie upon their bellies, a prudent order as it turned out as the _Ocean_ fired upon them as they passed.

Then with the _Namur_ 's broadside to the _Ocean_ , the order was given that all three tiers of guns would be fired on them at once. The sound was tremendous and the smoke from the gunpowder mighty, and then commenced a fierce battle in which gunfire from each ship raged upon the other. In the ensuing battle, many died as the wooden sides of the ship were breached.

Leonard's own wound was caused early in the battle by a large splintered piece of wood, launched by an explosion, striking his face and carving a path through it. He had thought at first that he was blind in one eye, because the piece itself was embedded across his left eye and into his cheek, with blood pouring along its path. And yet it was minor wound compared to what many others received. Because it occurred in the first minutes of the battle and he could still walk under his own power to the cockpit, he was one of the earliest to receive treatment from the surgeon.

As he was able bodied but for this wound, which swelled his eye shut and would make him vulnerable should he return to the deck, once it was treated the under surgeon bid Leonard, "You there, roll up your sleeves. One of our helpers is ill and I need you to help hold men down." Though Leonard outranked the man, he did as he was bid and found himself one of several pressing men down during amputations on the midshipmen's table.

When a sailor had but a portion of a limb remaining, his life's blood flowing out from below a poorly tied tourniquet, there was no doubt as to what needed to occur, and the operation seemed a kindness. However, when the decision was made to amputate rather than treat what to Leonard appeared merely a deep wound upon a limb, Leonard felt a bile rise in his throat.

When the first amputation was performed, upon a sailor Leonard barely knew, Leonard watched, curious. He quickly learned he had not the stomach for it.

Each man laid upon the table was given a gulp of rum before a leather gag was thrust in his mouth for him to bite upon. Leonard soon learned this was his signal to look away before the surgeon grabbed his heavy curved knife, with its stained ivory handle, and whipped it rapidly around the limb to detach skin and flesh. The surgeon then pulled the flesh back from the bone before he used his saw to cut through the bone, severing the limb.

In looking elsewhere, Leonard tried not to see the gleaming saws, knives and hook-like instruments warming in a kid of water on the stove (he later learned that it was considered less painful than for the men to be cut with cold blades). He tried not to see the growing pile of limbs in what had once been empty kids ranged about the table.

It was far worse when the man he had to assist in holding down was Guy Carter, who he had served with since a midshipman. He was a pleasant fellow with thick blonde hair.

Guy recognized him when he was placed on the table, said, "Leonard, when did you become a surgeon's mate?" Guy asked him about his own wound while still pulling tight a tourniquet around his right arm with the bone protruding from his distorted forearm which was missing a portion of his hand. Guy seemed almost cheerful.

Leonard had no doubt of what would follow, still he talked with Guy for the few moments before the rum was administered, the gag thrust and Leonard knew he must and did turn away, while leaning heavily on Guy's thigh.

But there was nothing he could do to block the sounds from his ears of the operation on Guy, the whish of the blade, his shriek through the gag which somehow failed to muffle the scraping of the saw as Guy struggled and Leonard leaned harder. Nothing to silence the whimpers, moans and curses from the other wounded men, as Guy now sobbed.

Of course, many other wounds needed to be addressed. Leonard thought it odd (though he knew that it was the practice aboard navy ships), that each man was treated not based on rank or the seriousness of his injury, but upon the order in which he arrived at the cockpit. Thus, one man's lifeblood might be gushing out, with his treatment already delayed as he was dependent upon other sailors to convey him hither, yet nothing might be done for him while grapeshot or a large splinter was plucked from another man's flesh. A man might expire without ever being tended.

Leonard could not close his nose to the acrid smell of blood mixed with gunpowder and burnt timbers, the horrid stink of tallow candles. The shaking occasioned by the recoil from the cannons when fired and the shivering and cracking of munitions colliding with their ship, shook everyone.

Nothing could relieve the itch of the drying bits of blood upon his arms and face, which covered him like pox, the drying stiffness of the lower portion of his shirt which had sopped up blood from a squirting wound, the ache in his arms, shoulders and back as he held men down. His own wound was but a tickle compared to all these things.

When Leonard was holding a man down, he began watching the surgeon's assistants addressing less serious injuries, such as more superficial wounds that needed bandaging and burns that needed to be salved. They worked steadily and seemed untroubled by the noises of the amputations. He also watched as the chaplain offered the waiting wounded wine that was so watered as to be pink, instructed them not to curse, and prayed over those near death.

When the bulk of the operations were over, Leonard was bid to resume his duties above deck for the next watch. He walked swiftly past where Guy reclined, pretended not to see him. Thus, Leonard was on the deck to see the tremendous flash of light, followed by a loud boom, like thunder following lightning as the _Ocean_ blew up.

The _Namur_ , though heavily damaged, survived, and they managed to capture the _Centaure_ and other ships. But most importantly, their fleet had won the battle and emerged triumphant.

In the aftermath of the battle, many men had exciting tales of what had occurred and the role they played in the battles. Even the youngest powder money had a story to tell. Leonard remained silent. He had no wish to relate his role in the amputations; he well knew that many who lost their limbs would later lose their lives.

Three days later, when he came off his watch, Leonard thought to visit Guy where he recuperated. He had thought of it many times before, but lacked the courage, however this time he forced himself to go.

Guy greeted him with a wide smile, a loud, "Hello Leonard," and teased, "Have you decided to become a surgeon?" Guy was just as Leonard always remembered him to be, but for the stubble on his face and the well wrapped stump with its stained bandage.

When Leonard asked how Guy was doing, Guy told him, "There is a massive amount of puss, but the surgeon says that is a sign of healing. I have begun learning to write with my left hand. It is not too difficult."

Two days later, Leonard learned that Guy had died. He watched the service for Guy and the others that died that day were "buried" by the chaplain at the gangway with all the fit hands. It was a better fate than those who died during the action and were just cast overboard. Though Leonard knew he had done nothing wrong in holding Guy down, he somehow felt responsible and wondered why he himself was spared such a fate.

Leonard was still recovering from his wound (it itched and burned as the scar filled in and flaked, it was a tremendous temptation to scratch at it) when a letter finally reached him telling him his eldest brother Thomas had died after being thrown from his horse and trampled during a hunt. As by that time the ship was a loss and they were about to be paid off, he knew then that his naval career would be at an end as soon as all the paperwork could be arranged. Thus, instead of continuing to see action as part of what would later be termed the Seven Years War, 1760 found him in search of a wife.

And now in 1786, he might again want to seek a bride or to set sail again.


	10. Chapter 8

_I want to thank everyone who is reading and reviewing this revision. Shout outs to: liysyl, Jansfamily4, Guest, Shelby66 and Deanna27 for reviewing. It means a lot to me.  
_

 **Chapter 8**

Two weeks passed away with Leonard becoming more and more convinced that his son was purposefully pretending to be simpler than a man who had obtained top Cambridge honors should be, and Horace wondering what more he could do to delay his father from finishing his education on running the estate. Finally, Leonard had enough.

"Horace," his father called, beckoning him into his study, "it is time we had a talk."

Horace entered slowly, shoulders bent forward, head hanging down a little. He had been waiting for his father to state that he was done with his tomfoolery and it appeared that moment had come.

Horace sat before his father's desk and waited. Leonard shut the door and sat himself down.

"I am certain I have taught you what you need to know about running the estate. Why are you pretending to wallow in ignorance?"

Horace remained silent. He did not think there was any answer he could make that would please his father.

After Leonard waited for a while and determined that Horace would make no answer, he proceeded.

"Under the terms of your grandfather's will, now that you have reached your majority and returned to Longbourn, the estate is yours for life with the remainder under the entail to your oldest son."

Horace nodded. He was well familiar with the provisions of Phineas Bennet's will as it pertained to him.

"Your grandfather in an earlier version of his will made the same arrangements with me and the entail to you, but he was wise to revise once you were born and showed every sign of successfully reaching adulthood. This was wise of him because he knew I would be tempted to make you break the entail at this time and sell the estate to fund my escape."

Horace saw his father look past him, to an invisible future, even as he continued to speak.

"When I learned of this alteration after his death, I thought he was wrong to make this decision, as I was happy with your mother and had no desire to go anywhere at that time, or rather any desire I had was tamped down for her sake and yours. However, it appears that your grandfather Phineas knew me better than I knew myself because once my Lizzy was gone all I could think about was my desire to leave this place far behind."

He sighed, thinking of his vibrant Elizabeth flushed with fever that nothing could quell and gone far too soon and then the unbearable loneliness of living in a house without her in it.

"But I still had a responsibility, to him, to you and to Longbourn. I worked to maintain your inheritance. While I could have siphoned off larger funds and you may not have even noticed, I properly limited myself to what I could save from the profits of the estate that did not need to be reinvested. I have left you more than sufficient funds even should there be a problematic year or two."

Leonard sighed again, "What my father could not do, no matter how he arranged matters, was commit me to this land for the duration of my life. I was meant to be a sailor, to go where my king saw fit from whatever position I rose to in the navy. While it is too late for that life now, and I prefer exploring to fighting, it is not too late for me to strike out for someplace new. Why do you seek to oppose me in this? Is it not my time to finally do what I wish to do?"

Horace thought about maintaining his silence, but finally decided he would be selfish and have his say.

"Father, grandfather was not wise. I wish he had left Longbourn to just me and you. I would have happily joined with you in selling the estate and returned to Cambridge. That was the life I was meant to live, not this one."

Horace looked out at the fields visible through the window; he knew it was his inheritance and this was now his place in the world, but even as he stared at the land the classrooms of Cambridge rose up in his eyes until he saw naught but them.

"You have your dreams and I have mine, but someone now long-dead has decided he knew what was best. However, you are not the only one who misses Mother. Yet one of the worst parts about her dying was that I knew I would lose you, too."

Horace saw his father's eyes widen as this comment, but Leonard remained silent.

"Over the years it was always clear what you felt about being at sea." Horace recalled all the times he saw his father stare at the ship in the painting. "Since mother died you have made no secret of the fact that you wish to return to that life, that the only delay to such an outcome is in your waiting for me to be ready to maintain the Bennet legacy."

Horace tried to keep his voice steady as he continued, "Yet there were many hints before, that you settled for this life rather than sought it. I suspected mother would not yet be cold in her grave before you began plotting your escape, but I thought by the time she passed from this world that you would have either passed yourself or be too old to go back to the sea."

Horace heard his voice take on a higher pitch when he asked, "Why in losing her, do I have to lose you as well? You are correct that you have already taught me what I need to know but knowing these things does not replace you. Can you not find a way to be happy here?"

Leonard was shocked by his son's desire for his presence. He himself had no strong desire for his father's ongoing presence, but perhaps that is because he knew from a young age that his place was on a ship, sailing far away from England. He was treated like a man for many years before being summoned home and placed firmly under his father's authority once more.

Horace was disquieted by his father's failure to say anything and final spoke again, "Father, forgive me for my selfishness. I only hoped that perhaps if you found another wife that you might wish to remain, and there was more time to interest you in such a pursuit the longer you believed you still needed to teach me."

Leonard finally responded, "Horace, I did not know you felt this way. I have considered whether I could be happy remaining if I took a wife, but I am uncertain. It would be different if your mother could return. I am sure I could be happy enough again if she still lived."

Leonard thought then of his Lizzy, her small little body atop him dwarfed in his arms when she visited him, the pleasure they had gained at her initiative. Though she had never borne him another child, they both enjoyed their efforts to produce another.

He remembered when he stopped addressing her as Mrs. Bennet or Elizabeth and began calling her "Lizzy" and how intimate it felt and sounded on his tongue. He also remembered how she began calling him "Leo" and told him it suited him because he was large and mighty and brave like a lion. Somehow, they fit together better being Leo and Lizzy and it was these names that they always called each other when they performed the feather-bed jig.

He remembered the gradual shift in how he felt for her (as portended by the change in their names) and how he also believed he felt a shift in how she felt towards him. Leonard thought the increased felicity in their marital intimacies had freed him somehow to share all his secret thoughts with her, even the ones that revealed the ugliness within him and how then she had done the same.

Leonard remembered sharing about his own role in Guy's death with Elizabeth and telling her, "During the service for his death, when I should have been focusing on remembering him, I kept rejoicing in how I was spared his fate. I was so caught up in such thoughts that I did not even notice when he body was commended to the sea, did not even hear the splash, only realized it was over when everyone moved to resume their duties."

Another time Lizzy told him, "I hate my father, for feeling that I was of no value to him once he realized I would never marry well. I hate that he was so willing to part with me, that he never even bothered to ask me if I wanted to marry you before he agreed when you spoke with him."

Leonard remembered feeling a stab of panic at her words. "But you did want to marry me, did you not? I told him I had asked you and you had accepted."

"Yes, I did, but that is not the point. He did not care enough about me to confirm that your report was correct. Instead he was willing to hand me over to a man he knew almost nothing about, just to be rid of me."

Leonard remembered, finally, trusting Elizabeth enough that he could declare his new feelings for her. He rehearsed the words many times, and yet each time he planned to say them, remaining silent instead. He recalled feeling as shy as he had when he called on her that first time, yet what was there to be shy about in expressing love for his beloved wife?

Finally, one morning, when he awoke before her in what was now their shared bed, he resolved that this would be the morning that he finally declared the love he felt for her, and how difficult it was to wait the few minutes it took for her to awake as well. Eventually, she stirred and turned toward him, her eyes blinking slowly, remaining closed more than open, her blonde hair tousled as she never braided it at night now, since he had told her how much he enjoyed seeing her golden locks released.

Still more asleep than awake, she snuggled her face into his chest which was turned in her direction. They each then placed an arm across the other's naked flesh, hugging and pressing against each other. He then loosened his arm to stroke her hair back from her face and she gave a small sigh of pleasure, her eyes blinking open.

"Lizzy," he whispered against her forehead, smelling her hair, "I love you, most dearly."

She pulled her face back a little then and he could see her smile as she looked up and into his eyes. "And me, you."

He recalled the tremendous surge of joy he felt when she told him of her own feelings. They said nothing else then, just clasped each other tightly, lightly stroking each other's backs and eventually drifted off to sleep again.

When they later awoke, he irrationally feared he had only dreamed the exchange, so he told her again, "I love you, Lizzy."

She told him, "I am glad nothing has changed since we woke up earlier. I love you, too, Leo."

Leonard thought about how things changed after they made such declaration, how much more willing they both were to not conceal their signs of affection from one another. He delighted in seeing that when they were apart and she entered a room that he was in, her eyes always sought him out first, even before her beloved Horace. If she had lived past Horace's majority, Leonard could have never left her behind.

Leonard tried to refocus his thoughts to Horace's request, and told him, "Each negative answer I receive to my inquiries about joining an exploration (for simply sailing to the colonies or to another land does not appeal as much, though I will take that if it is all I can obtain), I wonder if I should just remarry and die on English soil, but would I ultimately be satisfied? I am not sure."

"Please father, at least consider whether there is a woman among us who could make you happy! I think our felicity would surely increase should Longbourn have a new mistress and we could send Aunt Pike away."

Leonard snorted softly, "As for the latter, you certainly have the right of it. I will confess that my sister's presence has given me added incentive to depart as soon as may be. But son, perhaps it is you who needs a wife. Surely you would be less troubled by my anticipated departure should you be starting your own family."

Horace gave a quick smile that did not reach his eyes, "I suppose that is possible, but I have no desire to marry yet."

Leonard answered, "Given the entail, it would be better if you married sooner. Some wives may give you a son immediately, other may not. A younger bride would also be prudent. Tell me, your sudden interest in Mrs. Goulding and Miss Lucas, was that for your benefit or mine?"

"Father, as I have said, I have no desire to marry yet. I thought one of them might be of interest to you."

"You may think me a buck fitch or a fool, Horace, but the only one to catch my eye is Miss Gardiner."


	11. Chapter 9

_In recognition of having received four reviews for the past chapter (yay, most ever on a chapter in this revision) I decided to post this chapter. I will keep posting additional chapters any time that I get at least four reviews. Whether I post extra chapters during the week, I will always post a chapter on Thursdays._

 _It has been pointed out to me if anyone tries to review who previously reviewed a chapter before the revision that they cannot post another review while logged in. The solution to that is to log out and simply write in your screen name with your review._

 **Chapter 9**

Horace resolved to consider how he might help his father turn his eyes to a more suitable object, a worthier mistress for Longbourn. He had this in mind when he mentioned at dinner the next evening, "Father I plan to attend the next assembly. Would you please go as well?"

"All right, son," Leonard answered. He thought it might be pleasant enough to dance with Miss Gardiner and do his duty by standing up with other ladies, including those that Horace mentioned. He was not sure why exactly it had been so long since he attended an assembly.

"Why are you bothering to attend a simple country dance?" Mrs. Pike asked. She could not help but notice that no one had requested her presence and she wished to dissuade them from attending.

Leonard turned to her, said, "Margaret, there is no harm in it and if my son wants me to attend, I am happy to do so."

"Leonard, it is a waste of an evening, why there are hardly any gentlefolk near Meryton."

"Be that as it may, I will still go."

Mrs. Pike gave a big, dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose I must go also, then, to make certain that Longbourn is appropriately represented." Mrs. Pike's true motivation was to attend simply so that she could interfere if either her brother or nephew showed any particular partiality to single ladies who they might ever consider making mistress of Longbourn.

Later that evening, Leonard's valet was surprised when his master told him, "I will be attending the assembly and wish to look my best." However, he did what he could for his master when the day came. While there was nothing he could do about the lower part of the master's scar, the addition of a suitable wig concealed the upper portion of it that extended into his hairline. Although his valet knew that fashions were changing, and it was only the older men who were wigsbys, it was the best he could do. The master's long waistcoat, breeches and stockings were all acceptable, though a few years out of date.

Leonard, who had not attended an assembly in years, had very little interest in fashion. He still remembered seeing his Elizabeth's real hair for the first time when he called upon her. Wearing a wig to an assembly was not something he questioned.

Horace, having needed to attend events while at university and having a sense of what was currently expected of a man of his age, declined the addition of a wig. He had, if not the latest in fashion, more modern garb than his father. His own hair was tied back with a ribbon.

Mrs. Pike's maid, Patience Oakley, had a difficult task in preparing everything Mrs. Pike wanted for the assembly and it did not help that Mrs. Pike did not bother to begin giving her instructions until the night before. She immediately retrieved Mrs. Pike's best wig so that they both could look at it.

Her mistress had declared, "Awful, simply awful, Oakley, you have failed to take proper care of my wig. It looks like an owl in an ivy bush; it needs to be fluxed right away."

As Oakley had never put a wig up in curls and then baked it to set it, she was quite frightened of making a mistake. However, fortunately Mrs. Webb was able to assist her in the morning. Then Oakley had to wait for it to cool before resetting all the small objects she had previously removed properly back into the wig.

The men were kept waiting by Mrs. Pike that evening as she fussed with her wig as even after all of the effort Oakley made in fixing it, yet the wig was not prepared to her liking. Even though she was not yet dressed, Mrs. Pike opined, "My wig is still missing something. Oakley, fetch some roses from the garden."

The men, who were downstairs still waiting for Mrs. Pike, watched as Oakley ran past the window towards the gardens, consulted with an outdoor servant and waited impatiently until he finally lumbered away. When he returned, he was bearing enormous shears and trailed behind her as she raced off again. A few minutes later, Oakley ran back with her arms filled with roses; the outdoor servant took considerably longer to come back into view of the window.

When Oakley returned, sweaty, her good gloves pricked by thorns, Mrs. Pike complained, "What took so long? I still need help dressing. Most of these are simply the wrong color. What were you thinking?"

Oakley wisely kept her thoughts on the matter to herself, and in acting patient, lived up to her name. Of course, later, she complained most vigorously about it to the other servants. She had no fear of repercussions; the other servants all had a poor impression of Mrs. Pike, though Mrs. Webb always warned they need to make sure no hint of their feelings escaped them when attending to Mrs. Pike, Mrs. Webb did nothing to quell the conversation.

A few minutes after Oakley returned to the house, Leonard sent Mrs. Webb to Mrs. Pike's chambers after instructing her, "Tell my sister we will go without her if she is not ready in the next quarter of an hour. Do not tell her this, but if we must depart without her, we will then send the carriage back for her."

The two Mr. Bennets were in the carriage and had almost alighted, a full quarter of an hour after the threatened departure time, when Mrs. Pike scrambled into the carriage. She wore a dress so wide in the hips for her panniers and a wig so large that Horace was glad no one else had to sit beside her. Her wig was so tall that she was obliged to ride with her head tilted to the side and supporting the upper portion of the lower end with her gloved hands.

However, it was not until her brother and nephew were assisting her down from the carriage that they saw her wig in all its glory. Not only did the mass of white curls rise to an impressive foot above the natural top of her head, but it also was crowned with fresh flowers, preserved butterflies and even three stuffed birds. Horace wondered how she could keep her head upright with that garish topper though Leonard was only reminded of the truly impressive wigs he remembered from the past including one with a model of a ship, though he had no recollection of the women who had worn them.

The attendees of the assembly included a mix of those wearing wigs and those with none, with those in their fourth decade and above almost all wearing wigs and those below their third decade completely devoid of wigs. As for paniers, all the women still wore them but the younger they were, the smaller the padding.

As the Bennet men entered, they saw that the dancing had already commenced, but not all the women were dancing. Leonard spotted Miss Gardiner dancing with Mr. Robinson, but her mother Mrs. Gardiner approached them, followed quickly by Mrs. King, Mrs. Goulding and Miss Lucas.

Almost without his own volition, Horace found himself telling Mrs. Gardiner, "I hope I shall have the chance to dance with Miss Gardiner later." Then he turned to Miss Lucas and asked, "Are you free this set?"

She agreed so quickly and with such obvious happiness that Leonard was taken aback, and half wished to rescind his request. However, as they walked to join the formation, he was soon glad he was already engaged as he heard his aunt ask his father, "Leonard, I wish to dance," and heard his father offer to dance with her. It took no stretch of the imagination for Horace to understand that easily could have been him being forced to dance with Mrs. Pike.

Leonard had to force his face to maintain a pleasant expression as he found himself escorting Margaret to a place next to Horace and Miss Lucas. How he wished he had the opportunity instead to tell Mrs. Gardiner that he, too, would like to dance a future set with Miss Gardiner, and had offered to partner the nearby Mrs. Goulding.

Leonard could not help but note that a few couples away from them Miss Gardiner had a light and pleasing form, while his sister clomped heavily even in her slippers, perhaps as a result of all the weight on her head and hips. While nothing to Miss Gardiner, Miss Lucas was certainly an improvement over Margaret in those brief moments that he danced with her.

Horace resolved to make the most of his dance with Miss Lucas as this would give him a chance to determine whether she might be a good match for his father. Accordingly, he asked her probing questions such as, "What qualities do you think are important for those charged with seeing to the wellbeing of others?"

She answered, "It is most important to help others as much as we can, to listen to their concerns and try to improve their lives. I have the great pleasure of assisting my nieces and nephews, along with my sisters and brothers in many ways, both big and small."

Miss Lucas correctly perceived that she was being considered for the position of Mistress of Longbourn. Her only error was believing that Horace was considering her for himself.

Miss Lucas found young Mr. Bennet to be very attentive and sensible, which were qualities she admired. She was quite flattered by his interest and felt her confidence soar that perhaps one day soon she would no longer be a thornback, but instead gain the envy of her sisters by finally having the smartest match of any of them.

Mrs. Gardiner watched the dancers. She noticed that Miss Lucas and young Mr. Bennet were talking frequently and thought to herself, that will never do! She resolved that he needed to see immediately how much lovelier was her own daughter, Jane. Therefore, she carefully watched where young Mr. Bennet was as the set finished and resolved to bring her daughter quickly to his side.

Mrs. Gardiner thought Mr. Robinson as a true gentleman as he dutifully escorted Miss Gardiner back to her. Mrs. Gardiner was pleased to see that her daughter showed proper manners in thanking him for the set, but also pleased that he did not linger. She asked her daughter quietly, "Did you follow my directions and keep your next two sets available?"

"Yes Mother, but only barely." Miss Gardiner opened her mouth to say more, but her mother interrupted.

"Come!" She grabbed her daughter's arm and pulled her along. "We must find young Mr. Bennet before he finds his next partner."

Although they located him quickly, Mrs. Gardiner was disappointed to see that he was already speaking with Mrs. Goulding. While Mrs. Gardiner was able to insert herself and her daughter into the conversation, she discovered young Mr. Bennet had already asked Mrs. Goulding for the next set.

Not all was lost, however, as Miss Gardiner knew just what to do to secure a later set. She gave young Mr. Bennet her best smile after he greeted her, leaned slightly toward him, which made him notice her ample duggs and said, "I am so glad you have returned home and graced us with your presence tonight."

Suddenly, Horace understood his father's attraction to Miss Gardiner and almost without any volitional thought was asking her for the following set. A few moments later his father joined them, and Horace felt a wave of guilt crash over him. It was not right to feel attracted to his possible future mother, for all her youth. He soothed his guilt by mentioning to his father, "Perhaps Miss Gardiner may dance the next with you?"

Leonard was quick to ask, "Miss Gardiner, would you do me the pleasure of joining me this set?"

"I would be delighted, Mr. Bennet," she told him. He did not notice that she was looking past him to his son.

Mrs. Gardiner was ecstatic, though she did her best to not let it show; it would not do to gloat overly much where Mrs. King and her daughters might see her. She felt most strongly the distinction of having young Mr. Bennet both ask her daughter for a set and make sure his father did likewise. She could only attribute this action to it being likely that Horace Bennet could not bear the thought of her daughter dancing with another eligible young man.

Too, Mrs. Gardiner saw every advantage in such an arrangement. Her daughter could continue in her efforts to garner the support of her future father by a closer association with him. Mrs. Gardiner never considered that the elder Mr. Bennet might be thinking of her daughter as a potential wife.

While Miss Gardiner was dancing with the elder Mr. Bennet, she too had no idea that he was expressing an interest in her, rather than acting on behalf of his son. When he talked about Longbourn and she expressed, "How I should like to see it once more!" (she remembered when she was not yet out calling upon Mrs. Bennet with her mother), she meant to express her interest in being his son's bride and not his own. In her attentions she simply meant to be friendly and not flirtatious and did not realize expressing an interest in Leonard's home was to him the same as expressing an interest in him.

Leonard Bennet for his part saw a lovely young woman with a glorious form who was admiring him and hoping to be worthy to share his home and name. Therefore, he told her, "I am glad to hear you say that as I wish to invite you, and your family of course, to join mine for dinner in a few days; I will make a formal invitation to Mrs. Gardiner."

Miss Gardiner spoke just what was in her heart when she boldly declared, "I am so pleased you would take notice of me and my family. My mother and I have hoped for a closer association between our two families."

When she said this, Leonard felt a strong desire to declare himself then and there but settled for enjoying their dances instead. He cautioned himself that he could not do more having only had two brief conversations with her but was overjoyed that his interest was returned. Being with her made him feel quite young again and he relished that feeling.

When the set concluded and Leonard escorted Miss Gardiner back to the side, he was well pleased when she accepted his offer to fetch her some punch. When he returned, he had the pleasure of hearing her tell her mother, "Mr. Bennet is a good dancer."

Leonard did not know that Miss Gardiner had just finished telling her mother, "You were right that showing kindness to the elder Mr. Bennet would help to gain the younger. He plans to invite our whole family to dinner. For someone of such an advanced age, who can perhaps only see from one eye, I was prepared to have my feet trod upon or perhaps have to partner him while he messed up the steps, but he has maintained some skill so that I found to my surprise that it was not too bad and all things considered . . ."

Leonard found that both Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Gardiner were quite gracious to him when he returned. He was pleased that the dinner invitation once issued was accepted with obvious pleasure.

Shortly thereafter, Horace came to collect Miss Gardiner for their set. At that time, Horace gently suggested to his father that he partner either of the single Lucas sisters as he had noticed Miss Lucas scanning the crowd and Mrs. Goulding standing with her, unpartnered.

Leonard agreed to do so. His first inclination was to partner Miss Lucas, but so eager did Miss Lucas appear as he approached them, that he shied away from her and instead asked her sister to dance. Mrs. Goulding accepted graciously and took his proffered arm.

Miss Lucas felt the slight of being passed over for her sister. She feared Leonard Bennet's selection was a sign that Horace favored Joanna over herself.

Although Leonard moved nimbly enough with Mrs. Goulding his mind was elsewhere (watching Miss Gardiner dancing with his son) and they barely exchanged a word of conversation though she made several attempts. Finally, Mrs. Goulding happened upon the one topic that was guaranteed to finally garner Leonard's attention.

She said, "Mr. Bennet, tell me about your time at sea."

The elder Mr. Bennet finally gave Mrs. Goulding his attention. Perhaps because of seeing so many wigs at the assembly, he was reminded of a story whose telling had been refined by his wife which he was sure would garner a favorable response.

"Did you know that a wig could be an essential item during a navy battle?"

She shook her head in negation.

Leonard explained, "When Admiral Boscawen commanded the fleet during the Battle of Lagos his wig was of such quality that it withstood the fury of the fight and helped the admiral maintain his authority. However, due to the serious damage to his flagship _Namur_ , the admiral decided to transfer his flag and self to the _Newark_ while the battle was still ongoing. While traveling by a small boat between the ships, a cannon shot a hole through his boat and it was in danger of sinking."

He then related, "And do you know what Admiral Boscawen did then? With nary a hesitation, he plucked his grand wig from his head and used it to plug the hole. In thus manner did he save his life and inspire his men. His wig, unfortunately did not fare as well, but he deemed its sacrifice only right when so many men lost their lives in the battle."

Joanna Goulding listened raptly to him and as she imagined the things he spoke about, her familiar, pleasant face was something more. In seeing her enjoyment in the story, Leonard felt a slight regret that the set would soon be over. Mrs. Goulding had a great deal of curiosity about life at sea and Leonard found himself hoping that she would be inclined to keep talking after their set concluded so that he could relate more details to her without all the interruptions necessitated by the movements of the dance.

He was pleased, then, when the dance completed and he escorted her to the side, that they continued talking. He discovered to his pleasure that Mrs. Goulding was not entirely ignorant about life in the navy as her uncle was a captain, one who in fact also had served as a midshipman during the Battle of Lagos, though on a different ship than his own.

Mrs. Goulding asked him many intelligent questions about the Battle of Lagos. While Leonard himself had not seen most of it, he was well familiar with all that had transpired based on many conversations afterwards with his fellow sailors and was well able to answer her questions. He then found himself telling Mrs. Goulding how he earned his scar, a greatly truncated version of his helping the ship's surgeon, Guy's death and about being summoned home after his brothers died, when all his hopes for his future were to be promoted to captain and be a sailor his whole life.

Leonard found he had not enjoyed himself nearly so much for years. He felt a certain intimacy in relating such things to her, though there was an appropriate space between them as he would have with any woman.

While Leonard was dancing with Mrs. Goulding, Horace was dancing with Miss Jane Gardiner. In talking with her, he soon discovered she had little interest in reading and was far more interested in the local gossip. He learned much about the marital prospects of his peers.

Miss Gardiner told him, "Mr. John Robinson is secretly courting Miss Eugenia Watson. I have it from Miss Hester King that she saw them at the bookseller's shop and Mrs. Hill told me she saw Miss Watson waiting there, pretending to look at books and doing a poor job of it, as she was always staring at the door and everyone knew she had been waiting for Mr. Robinson as he immediately sought her out and they talked for several minutes before she left, and neither of them bought a book. We believe he will marry her as soon as he is out of mourning."

Horace then understood why his friend had been anxious to end their conversation, the one time they met by chance in Meryton.

Miss Gardiner also told him, "I believe Mr. Goulding is almost certain to propose to Miss Harrington any day; they have been courting since Colonel Millar's regiment left, shortly before you returned home."

Finally, Miss Gardiner told him, giving him a saucy grin that made him feel a burst of desire for her person, "Do you know who is the most desirable single man here?"

He shook his head, mesmerized by the way in that moment that she focused all of her attention on him alone.

"Why, Mr. Bennet of course!"

Horace looked in his father's general direction. He had never considered his father the most eligible. He frowned slightly, confused as to why this news, coming from the mouth of the woman who had caught his father's eye, was perturbing to him.

However, Horace was not such a confident dancer that she could look away from Miss Gardiner for long, and when he looked back at her, he saw much amusement in her eyes.

"I do not mean your father!" Jane exclaimed.

Horace felt himself blushing, both embarrassed by his mistake and embarrassed that it now appeared he had gained her attention instead of his father. Upon the conclusion of the dance, he dutifully returned her to her mother and uttered not another word to her.

Mrs. Pike watched Horace and Miss Gardiner dance to try to decide if Horace had any interest in Miss Gardiner. She did not like the way Horace was looking at Miss Gardiner, intent and a little hungrily. She recognized such a look, she had seen it often enough from Mr. Pike when they were courting, though she did not fully learn what it meant until they were married. Thus, she was poised and ready to interrupt (and to hint to him that she wanted to dance), if they kept conversing. However, before she even reached Horace, Mrs. Pike was happy then to see that her nephew left Miss Gardiner without even escorting her back to her mother, once their dance was complete.

Given Miss Gardiner's words, Horace was naturally skittish about dancing or speaking with any other women that night. He now viewed what he had thought was merely friendliness toward himself, with far different eyes. He noted now that it was all the single women and their mothers who had been seeking him out. He resolved to the best of his ability to raise no one's expectations but feared it might already be done in the case of Miss Gardiner.

Horace found himself conflicted. Miss Gardiner was undoubtedly one of the most handsome ladies in attendance and he could imagine how pleasurable it would be to kiss her, and all the might follow afterwards should they marry. However, at present besides having the opportunity to indulge in marital intimacies, he had no desire to marry anyone. He also did not want to steal her away from his father (at least not until his father declared an intention to pursue another).

Mrs. Pike, after assuring herself that Horace was not seeking his next partner for dancing, found her brother and observed his conversation with Mrs. Goulding from a distance. From what Mrs. Pike saw, the two of them well spaced from each other, though talking animatedly, she did not think she had anything to fear from Mrs. Goulding. Mrs. Goulding had a comfortable existence as mistress in her brother Mr. Goulding's home and Mrs. Pike could not imagine why anyone would trade something like that for a marriage to a man who already had an heir.

Horace half-heartedly engaged in conversations with men while doing his best to avoid all single women and their mothers. He talked first with his friend John, and then with Mr. King, while he looked around for his father.

Horace was quite distracting in trying to consider whether he should tell his father of this latest development. If he told him that Miss Gardiner was interested in himself and not his father, would it better help his father be more realistic in who he sought for a bride or would such a disclosure only serve to drive his father away?

When Horace finally found his father, he was pleased to see that his father seemed engrossed in conversing with Mrs. Goulding. While waiting for them to part, Horace found himself caught up in hearing their exchange. They were reminiscing about their childhoods as if they were friends of old, though as far as Horace knew they were acquaintances at best.

Joanna told Leonard, "When I was a very young girl, I dreamt of sailing on ships myself. My uncle gave my younger brother William a wonderful toy ship that was quite realistic, and as he was little more than a baby at that time and could not truly play with it, I used it for my own play. My paper dolls had many delightful voyages across a sea made from a quilt with a number of blue squares."

She explained, "I did not really understand until William was breached and I remained in dresses, that this could not be, that my role in life once I came out was to marry and always remain at home."

Leonard listened sympathetically as Joanna told him, "I longed to see new sights and places, to taste the salty air, to feel the wind against her that also filled the sails, and to sleep in a hammock. Yet, it could never be."

When she spoke of these desires her face, which normally bore the fine lines of disappointment, was transformed into that of an eager child with no guile, only enthusiasm. They spoke on and on. Finally, Leonard had the sense they had been talking far too long and resolved he should go.

As he thanked Mrs. Goulding for the set, he noted the music stopping once again and couples dispersing. He suddenly understood that they had talked through the next set besides.

Horace, in the end, did not speak to his father at all. In having seen how well it appeared his father was matched with Mrs. Goulding, Horace resolved he need not say anything about Miss Gardiner.

Leonard realized that the last hour had passed away more pleasantly than he could have imagined and that he would not mind being in Mrs. Goulding's company again. However, rather than realizing he had met a kindred spirit, he only felt a boost to his ego and quickly relegated their conversation from the forefront of his mind when he spied Miss Gardiner smiling in his general direction.


	12. Chapter 10

_Wow, another four reviews! Here is your reward, another early chapter._

 **Chapter 10**

 _"_ _M" chapter. This chapter needs an additional warning as in addition to marital intimacies it contains a gruesome description of childbirth leading to death which includes a dismemberment; what is recounted is historically accurate but may be skipped over when you get to that part._

The next day the three Lucas sisters, Joanna Goulding, Edith Lucas and Dorothy Hill, met at Mrs. Hill's house for tea and a long visit to compare their impressions of everything that occurred at the assembly. Dorothy was very curious about how her sisters were faring with the young Mr. Bennet. Although both Joanna and Edith had danced a set with him, he had never danced a second set with anyone, and Dorothy thought it unlikely that he was close to selecting a bride.

Dorothy was glad that she had decided against having her eldest come out yet. She would let her sisters and the other local ladies have an opportunity at landing young Mr. Bennet and if they failed it might be time in a year or two to introduce him to someone new.

Edith continued to insist, "I am best suited to become Mr. Horace's wife." She discussed in detail the probing questions he had asked her.

Joanna recognized that she, too, had been asked similar questions but said nothing. While obviously the younger Mr. Bennet was the superior choice, and she was glad he had favored her with a dance, she felt no attraction to him. Instead Joanna found herself considering the elder Mr. Bennet in a different light from before and wondering if he would ever consider marrying again.

Joanna knew that although he was likely a decade or more her senior, that Leonard Bennet could marry a young maid newly out and if he had any interest in marrying again that he might choose to do so. Perhaps, having only one son, he wanted more children, or simply someone fresh and untouched. She knew this both from a general knowledge of how the world worked and from her own personal experience.

Her brother-in-law, Mr. Goulding, was almost forty and he was courting a woman of one and twenty. His older brother, her husband Virgil, had married her when she was just sixteen and newly admitted to society. At that time Virgil was six and thirty and had two years prior buried his first wife, who died at age two and twenty.

Virgil and Joanna had only been in each other's company a few times before Virgil had approached her father for her hand. Her father thought it a good match and had consented and she was told how pleased she should be for having caught the eye of someone of consequence.

Accordingly, before Joanna even had time to decide if she liked Virgil Goulding, she found herself engaged to him. Fortunately, in the three weeks of the calling of the bans he had been very attentive and at the time of their marriage she felt content even though she had never herself chosen to be married to him.

Her mother, Mrs. Lucas, told Joanna the day before her wedding, "You are most fortunate to be marrying soon after your come out, before any man yet has a chance to trifle with you, as men are slaves to their passions and can have much difficulty controlling themselves. Once you are bound to Mr. Goulding by your vows, you must obey him in all things and your body will no longer belong to you alone but will now be his to command. The things I will now tell you are all that is proper to do after marriage. You will need to permit any actions your husband desires; doing so is well worth the joy of becoming a mother."

Her mother explained, "There is a duty that all wives have, to allow without complaint for a husband to place that part of him that is between his legs and makes him a man within that place at the juncture of your legs that makes you a woman, so that he may plant his seed within you. It is only by letting him place himself within you, that your fruitful vine will be able to bear its fruit."

She then explained the importance of producing sons, "All men wish for male children so that when they are gone there is someone to follow them. You, too, need to bear sons so that there is someone to care for you after your husband is gone. You will increase your chances of having children by encouraging him to take his pleasure of you often, however once you have at least two sons, you may wish to discourage him somewhat so that you are not forever bearing children."

After Joanna became Mrs. Goulding and she was first alone with her husband, she expected to be initiated into the duty her mother had told her about. She had thought Mr. Goulding would be most eager to undertake what all men wished to do, and she had been most curious about it.

However, instead of unleashing his passions, Virgil had inquired in minute detail about her cycle, asking questions such as "How often are your courses? How long do they last? Are they almost always the same number of days apart?" This was a situation for which her mother's advice on marital relations had not prepared her.

Though Joanna answered, knowing a wife needed to always to do whatever her husband requested, she found the conversation highly mortifying and her face burned hot, far hotter than it had when she thought he was about to embark on all manner of unknown marital intimacies.

Later, Virgil showed her how to give him pleasure. While they shared many intimacies on her wedding night and in the days that followed, until she reported to him as requested that her courses had begun, he made no move to place his member within her. Then everything she thought she knew was turned on its head as he devoted much attention to worshiping her body before finally consummated their marriage.

The joining together was rather messy and like nothing she had anticipated. She thought from the words her mother used that it would be a simple, quick matter, like placing an item in a drawer and closing it. She did not expect the prolonged caressing of her person, the suckling of her nipples, joining and thrusting that after a brief moment of discomfort produced pleasure for them both.

Then a clear pattern emerged; Virgil only wished to engage in full marital relations during her courses and for the first two or three days after her courses concluded, though he enjoyed other intimacies with her the rest of the time.

Joanna had not understood the purpose behind this but became concerned after three years had passed and she had yet to become with child. She finally concluded that the timing of their marital relations might be to blame. Once she reached that conclusion, she attempted to encourage Virgil through her actions to engage in the act at other times, but he would not.

It had taken her another two years to work up the courage to ask him about the matter as women were never to speak of the act and only to submit and follow any instructions given by their husbands, or at least that was what she had understood from all her mother told her.

Joanna finally asked Virgil about it one evening after yet again he came to completion outside of her body. "Dear husband, are you not concerned that I have yet to become with child? Why do you withhold from me that which is my right as your wife?"

He had been grave and silent, and she had wondered if she had made a mistake in addressing the matter.

"Dear wife, almost against my own will I have become very fond of you and have no wish to lose you. I will not have your blood on my hands." He then told her about losing his first wife in childbirth.

Although Joanna had known the first Mrs. Goulding died from childbirth and the baby, too, she had assumed it was childbirth fever, a slow fading away, falling into a delirious sleep never to awaken, a weak baby that perhaps never took his first breath. The truth was far more gruesome, and once Virgil began to talk about the matter his recitation was much more detailed that she could have anticipated.

Virgil told Joanna that when his wife's travailing had begun, she was happy, believing that the baby would arrive by the following day. After her mother and the midwife arrived, they shooed him away as childbearing was a matter for women-folk. He had stayed out of the house as his father had advised but eventually returned at bedtime. He could not sleep for worrying about his wife and hearing her cries but expected both of them would have relief by morning.

However, morning came, then afternoon, then evening and his worry grew. Finally, the midwife sent for him and talked to him outside the room.

She said plainly, "The baby is at the brink of your wife's _janua vita_ , but he is lodged tight and stuck, probably because his head is too large and your wife's passage is too small." She asked, "Have I your permission to send to London for a male midwife, a 'forceps man'?"

Of course, Virgil agreed. Then passed a restless night in which he found no sleep, but by morning the forceps man had arrived.

He tried his instrument of wonder but was not able to pluck the babe from within her. He then consulted with Virgil, telling him, "The baby will not budge, the forceps are not having the usual effect and I believe all life has passed from him."

Virgil told Joanna, "I could not believe what I was hearing, I had to sit down as I was swaying upon my feet, but the worst was yet to come. He told me, 'I want to cut him in pieces, that I may pluck him from your wife's body. If I do not do so, your wife will die, but she refuses to acknowledge that the baby is gone and must be taken from her in such a manner. I hesitate to proceed without your say-so.'"

"Oh, how awful," Joanna told Virgil, laying a hand upon his shoulder. She remembered feeling the tears build in her eyes but did her best to restrain them. The picture Virgil painted was most vivid and painful, and yet she knew her own agony in hearing such a story was a pale imitation of what her husband had suffered, continued to suffer.

"Naturally, I asked to see my wife and it took many entreaties until he would let me, but I had to see for myself. It was so odd to see my wife splayed so, see her screaming and grunting, to see the top of a head poised between her nether lips, the hair split by what seemed ready to emerge and yet did not, did not move at all despite her efforts. I asked, 'Is my son really gone?' He then bid me to lay my hand upon the infant's crown. While it felt neither warm nor cold, it did not feel warm with life. I knew then."

"Did you talk to your wife about the matter?"

"Yes, and it was a new horror. I took her hand, tried to ignore the state of her body. I spoke to her, told her, 'I am so sorry, my dear, but the baby is gone, and I cannot lose you also.' But she refused to acknowledge it, begged me, 'Do not let him do it, do not let him hurt our baby! I had to tell her, 'He must remove him; there is no choice; I am sorry.' She screamed and cried while I told him to proceed."

"And then?"

"He tried to dose her with laudanum, but she would not drink it, she spit out the water he placed it in. Finally, he tied her limbs to the bed, forcing her knees outward and had maids pushing them down. She kept screaming as he used his saws and tools to piece our child and remove him in parts. I was there, trying to talk to her, so I saw not exactly what he did, but I did see the parts afterwards, laid in a large bowl he placed them in. The sight haunts me still. His little body was in mostly one piece and I could see he was the boy that I had longed for. The boy I had felt move in her body before her pains began."

"If the babe was removed, why did she die?"

"It was childbirth fever, or so they said, but I think it was her grief, that she wanted to join him in heaven. If I had known what would occur, I would have let her die with the baby still inside her."

"But you could not know. You did what anyone would have done, under those circumstances, you did the best you could."

He then gave a mighty sob, lurched toward her and Joanna held him in her arms as he cried and cried. Oddly enough, her eyes remained dry, though she had been on the verge of crying many times during his tale. But she held him tight and sobbed inside.

Once Virgil had finally calmed a little, he said, "I cannot risk doing that to another. My passion caused her to suffer and die. I am a large man and created in her a large babe. Perhaps I should have never married you, but you help distract me from the pain, ease it, are a balm to my soul."

Joanna never asked how Virgil learned the timing of relations that would not lead to a child and never raised the topic again until what turned out to be about eight months before his death. Virgil was suffering from a long wasting illness and had already told her months earlier that he believed the apothecary who told him that it would eventually result in his departure to the next world.

Again, it had taken Joanna much time to work up the courage to ask him for a particular favor, "Virgil, will you not give me a child so that when you pass, I shall not be left all alone? I have long desired to be a mother. I am more than willing to risk the consequences. Surely, I might be successful in the endeavor and if not, would it truly be so terrible that we should closely together receive our eternal reward?"

Virgil shook his head sadly and told her with a tremble in his voice. "Do not ask this of me, anything but this I will gladly give you. You are far too young to die; I will not be the one who pulls you into the grave. When I am gone, should you choose to marry another, you will likely be deciding to risk your life for a child. However, it shall not be me that places you in that position of peril."

In the end, Virgil did not lose Joanna, instead she lost him as had been predicted and she was widowed at age twenty-five.

After Joanna's year of mourning, she knew she could remarry but who would want her? The bloom of her youth was gone and as far as anyone knew she was barren. The secret of why she never had a child was one she would carry to her grave.

She had seen many an eligible man discount her for these reasons and at one and thirty had been flattered when young Mr. Bennet had not done so. Now, however, with the elder Mr. Bennet she felt that she might wish to marry not for the purpose of regaining worth or finally having the opportunity to become a mother (her primary purposes in the years that followed her husband's death), but because she might want to spend time with another.

Though her sister Dorothy wondered at Joanne's silence regarding the young Mr. Bennet while Edith bragged, Edith believed Joanna was conceding to her. Neither suspected Joanna's partiality for the elder Mr. Bennet.


	13. Chapter 11

_Today has been a particularly bad day, so that is why I did not post earlier. I accidentally flubbed a deadline and now have to reapply for benefits my son received and tomorrow I am flying out to help my dad who is getting out of rehab. Under these circumstances, I am not going to have time to post additional chapters if I get four reviews or more. Thanks for understanding. I will have another chapter out next Thursday, though._

 **Chapter 11**

The morning after the assembly, Jane arose earlier than her sister and mother. This was very unusual indeed. Additionally, she was in a good mood despite her early waking. She completed as much of her toilet as she could by herself while humming a tune from the assembly and then woke up her sister to help her finish dressing.

"Why did you wake me up so early?" Lydia asked, yawning, while she buttoned her sister's dress.

"I am simply in a good mood, thinking about my future."

"What do you mean?"

"Horace Bennet admired me greatly last night, even arranging a dinner for me, and now I know he is the man who shall be my husband. It will happen; you will see."

"Could you not have stayed in bed longer, thinking of your future?"

"No, Lydia, how can one stay abed when she is falling in love?"

"In love?"

"Yes, most certainly!"

As Jane watched Lydia help her with her hair in the mirror, she thought about all the characteristics that made Horace Bennet most suitable as an object for her affection. Though he had no red coat and was not especially dashing, he would never leave her a widow by dying on the battle field. In his favor was that he was a suitable dancer, he had lovely hair just as her mother said, and she liked his light eyes. He looked good in his finest and she admired the quality of his clothing and she thought he admired her. She thought all eyes were on her when they danced together and a pairing which could gain her that was worth having indeed (and indeed she had been much sought after following his dance with her).

Jane also did not overlook Horace Bennet's consequence and wealth, which would give her access to many delights only imagined that she would now experience for herself. Now her fondest dreams had a more definite quality.

"Just think, Lydia, after we are wed, I will wear the finest silks. I shall never get dusty or hot from walking as I will be whisked around in his carriage instead. We shall travel to London for the season every year. When you are out, we shall take you with us, and all of our friends will envy our good fortune."

Lydia began to be caught up in Jane's fancy, imagining that she, too, would share in all the Bennets had to offer. "You will have the grandest parties, with hired musicians. Perhaps there might be dancing."

"Of course." Jane was silent for a few moments considering all the possibilities that money and status could offer. In her fancy, young Mr. Bennet let her arrange everything to her liking and he and his father were quiet figures at the far edges of her imaginings, mostly out of sight except when they were benevolently paying for things.

"And I shall have the most beautiful of children. Imagine, me having a happy baby boy with his hair and eyes, and perhaps my own curls. He shall be a living doll. All our friends will admire him when they see how much finer he is than their infants. And I shall have to do almost nothing, the nurse will bathe, change and dress him."

Thus when Mrs. Gardiner arose, she found both her daughters dressed and in good moods. They were even agreeable to her suggestion that they leave early to call on the Kings to discuss the assembly.

While Jane helped her mother with her hair, she bent down and whispered in her left ear, "Mama, I believe you were right when you told me to secure young Mr. Bennet. I have decided that I want to marry him."

Mary Gardiner was quite pleased, "I will do my best to see that it happens, but first we must discuss how you will handle our call on the Kings. Now Jane you must be humble in discussing the attention you received from Mr. Bennet and you must not mention the dinner invitation from his father."

Jane did her best to look annoyed, declaring, "Mother, what good is it to have a suitor if I cannot brag about it?"

Though Jane bickered further with her mother about remaining silent about the attention she had garnered from young Mr. Bennet and the upcoming dinner, secretly she was not that upset. Jane thought it would be far nicer to brag about this sign of favor after it occurred (and maybe even have the chance to tell of an engagement, too). She imagined Mrs. King's envy. How much her mother and sister would enjoy seeing Mrs. King's annoyance, while Mrs. King had to try her best to be polite!

Mrs. Gardiner also warned Jane not to say anything bad about any of young Mr. Bennet's family, reminding her, "Mrs. King would like nothing better than to pass along word that you were disparaging Mrs. Pike or the elder Mr. Bennet."

At Jane's blank look, Mary Gardiner was obliged to explain what "disparaging" meant and at this aside Jane then became distracted by her own thoughts and started to talk about other matters.

"Mother, I cannot wait to have the finest of clothes after I marry."

Mrs. Gardiner was obliged to steer the conversation back to her warnings. "Remember, I have told you that a man's family can be key to gaining a proposal. Any mean word about any of them will sink your chances. No proposal and wedding, no fine clothes."

"All right Mother," Jane said.

Well familiar with how her daughter's mind worked, Mrs. Gardiner tested Jane. "What are you not to do?"

Jane answered, "Do not mention the dinner, do not say anything bad about the elder Mr. Bennet or Mrs. Pike."

"Or young Mr. Bennet."

"Or young Mr. Bennet," Jane repeated. "There is not much bad I could say about him anyway," she commented. "He is short and plain, but he was dressed well, danced well, listened to me and he does have nice hair and eyes. I think he rather admired me, and I made sure he knew I admired him."

"Oh Jane, what did you do?" Mrs. Gardiner worried, "I hope you were not too forward, men like to think they are the pursuers and not the pursued. Even if we know better, it is not mannerly for them to know that."

"It is fine, Mother. I only told him he was the most eligible man in the room!"

"Oh, you did not Jane, did you?" Mrs. Gardiner was horrified and made no attempt to conceal this reaction. She could tell from her daughter's look that she had done that and more.

"What is wrong with that?" Jane questioned. "It is true! At first, he thought I meant his father. Who would want to marry him?"

"But Jane, while we both know you are among the loveliest of ladies in Meryton, what if Horace Bennet should get it into his head to seek a woman with a larger dowry, or to see the debutantes in town? You should not have done that Jane!"

"It will be all right, Mother, I got him to smile a lot and I could tell he admired me."

Mrs. Gardiner sighed, "Jane, just promise me that when you see him next you will do your best to be demure."

At Jane's next blank look, Mrs. Gardiner had to explain that word as well.

"You know who was not demure?" Jane asked, trying out the new word. "It was his aunt Mrs. Pike. Did you see the size of her panniers and that cauliflower with all manner of things in it? Does she not know that fashions are changing?"

"Practice only saying nice things about the Bennets, Jane."

"Oh, all right, I will only complain about Mrs. Long's hideous dress."

"Jane!"

"Fine, but now there will hardly be anything to talk about at all."

While Jane groused about not getting to lord her success over Hester and Cecilia yet, Mrs. Gardiner, knowing her daughter, believed the chances of her not letting this information slip during the course of the call were even with her remaining silent, but the call must be made regardless for if they did not call on the Kings, the Kings would call on them.

The Gardiners and the Kings were close neighbors and while Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. King were competitive where their daughters were concerned, they enjoyed sharing gossip. While Mary Gardiner was watching the young Mr. Bennet's actions and plotting on Jane's account, she felt she had missed out on the other goings on at the assembly.

Her daughter Lydia had her own reasons for wanting to discuss the assembly. As she was not out, she had not been allowed to attend and could only experience the assembly vicariously. Lydia was eager to hear about the dresses and to find out if Mr. Phillips had been present and if so, who he danced with while there.

Mrs. Gardiner believed she would have the advantage in any interaction with the Kings if they arrived before the Kings expected them, therefore, the Gardiners called on the Kings as soon as all the women were ready.

Mrs. King was delighted to have guests, if not by their timing. While young Mr. Bennet had only danced with her Hester and not Cecilia, it was only right that he should pay attention to her eldest. If they did not seem to exchange much conversation during their set, she could pretend to herself that he was admiring Hester too much to need to speak. Mrs. King was eager to determine whether Miss Gardiner had any reason to feel encouraged and decided to proceed with quizzing her.

Therefore, in the guise of praising their daughters' shared success, Mrs. King said, looking toward Mrs. Gardiner, "Was not young Mr. Bennet kind to dance with your Jane and my Hester? What a fine figure he cut."

Then, without waiting for any response, Mrs. King turned to Jane and asked, "How did you enjoy your dance with him, Miss Gardiner?"

Jane greatly desired to brag, but catching a look from her mother said only, "I quite liked it."

"And your dance with his father?"

While Miss Gardiner wished to complain about it, after all who wanted to dance with an ugly scarred man when there were other options, she was silenced from voicing such complaint by another sharp look from her mother. Mrs. Gardiner saw, while her daughter did not, that this was a trap and any ill word would eventually be told to the elder Mr. Bennet and stymie her daughter's chances to join that family.

Mrs. Gardiner was well pleased when Jane replied, "He is a good dancer."

"What think you of his aunt?" Mrs. King probed.

"She made bold fashion choices," said Jane diplomatically.

Hester burst in, "Did you not see those birds on her wig? I have not seen such a crazy gooseberry for years! It was so ugly that if the birds were alive, they would have flown away in shame."

Hester missed her mother's critical stare, begging her for silence.

Mrs. Gardiner smiled inwardly, pleased at the showing her eldest daughter was making compared to Mrs. King's eldest.

Mrs. King was wondering if Mrs. Gardiner would tell their neighbors what Hester had said and attempted to lessen the damage. "Oh, my Hester is always joking, she just wishes she had such taste."

Again, Hester missed her mother's look and ignored her mother's pinch that meant, "Be quiet!"

"Mother, why are you pinching me? I never want to wear a wig and certainly not one so hideous. She and the elder Mr. Bennet made quite a pair when they danced together, her costume distracted from his looks."

Mrs. King was mortified. How could her daughter speak so, did she not know what was at stake? Mrs. King feared that her efforts to match Hester with young Mr. Bennet were already doomed, and yet here was another mark against her. Mrs. King did not know that young Mr. Bennet had only danced with Hester to be polite and had already resolved that she was far too boring and bland and would never do for him or his father.


	14. Chapter 12

_Please excuse any spelling errors/typos as I had to do the final revision on my tablet which has no spell check abilities._

 **Chapter 12**

The following day, Leonard casually mentioned over breakfast, "I did not think to mention it during our carriage ride home, but am telling you now, we are hosting the Gardiner family for a dinner on Wednesday. Sister, I wish you to instruct the cook to make a fine meal for our guests."

Horace was dumbfounded. He wondered why his father was still pusuing an association with Miss Gardiner after spending so much time with Joanna Goulding and clearly enjoying her company. He had almost convinced himself that he needed to discuss Miss Gardiner's expressed partiality for him with his father, when his father's next comment made him think differently.

Leonard said, "I issued the invitation to Mrs. Gardiner right after the dance I shared with Miss Gardiner."

This small detail took on a great significance to Horace. He believed that his father would have thought the better of it after dancing with Mrs. Goulding and, thus, felt the need to mention the timing of such things. Surely his father had recognized that Mrs. Goulding had all he could wish for in a mistress of Longbourn.

Mrs. Pike did her best not to let her anger show. Although she thought the Gardiners respectable enough company for most other families in Meryton and would have no objection attending a social gathering with them, it was plain to her that her brother was giving them undue consequence. They had no land, no fortune, no connections. Mr. Gardiner was merely an insignificant attorney.

The only reason for the dinner, Mrs. Pike was convinced, was that either her brother or her nephew was interested in making that wanton miss his wife. How could her brother expect for her to cheerfully hostess a dinner for the upstart who wished to usurp her?

Mrs. Pike felt her hard fought-for position as mistress of Longbourn slipping through her fingers and resolved not to give up without fighting for what was rightfully hers. She hoped that whatever significant development that had occured at the assembly which she apparently missed that led to this, that she might yet stop a proposal from occuring.

However, rather than voice her displeasure, she merely said, "Very well. We shall have a fine dinner." The Bennet men were totally unaware of her antipathy, given that her face merely bore her typical sour expression.

In the days leading up to the dinner, Mrs. Pike considered feigning an illness. Surely, they would have to reschedule if she could not serve as hostess. However, ultimately, she decided that a different strategy might be more effective.

On the evening of the dinner the five Gardiners arrived promptly. Leonard had arranged for them to arrive quite a bit earlier than when dinner would be served in the hope of spending more time with Miss Gardiner.

Mrs. Gardiner had earlier made sure that her Jane was well prepared to impress the Bennets both in appearance and in appropriate topics of conversation. Both of the Bennet men admired Miss Gardiner's womanly figure in her ivory dress trimmed with blue ribbons. She was quite attentive to each of them, and each felt a thrill at this sign of partiality (for naturally each thought himself the object of her interest).

Before the meal, Mrs. Pike was very solicitous to the Gardiners, saying, "We are so glad you could join us tonight, and does not Miss Gardiner look pretty in that frock."

Mrs. Gardiner believed that perhaps this boded well for an imminent proposal, so when Mrs. Pike suggested to them all, "While we wait for the dinner hour, what say you to a walk in the gardens?" Mrs. Gardiner happily accepted. She hoped this might provide a properly chaperoned opportunity for Jane to walk at young Mr. Bennet's side.

Mrs. Gardiner walked slowly beside her husband, pausing to admire various roses, trying to give Jane an opportunity to draw ahead of them with the Mr. Bennets and Mrs. Pike, while she kept her younger children at her side. Earnest, who had no interest in roses, announced, "Mother, if I may, I should like to go to the stable and look at the horses."

Mrs. Gardiner was obliged to check with the elder Mr. Bennet, which necessitated him slowing down to walk with her as she asked on Earnest's behalf. This was fine with her as she wished to let her Jane stroll with Mr. Horace; there could be no harm as Mrs. Pike was near them. He consented and Earnest ran off.

When Lydia would have joined her sister, not understanding Mary Gardiner's design, her mother called Lydia to her own side.

Mrs. Gardiner could only hope that her Jane would make the most of the opportunity with which she was provided, without being too forward. As Horace Bennet, Jane, Mrs. Pike and finally Leonard Bennet disappeared one after the other behind a folly, Mrs. Gardiner had hope that Mrs. Pike had contrived this moment in benevolent support of the joining of their families.

However as soon as they were out of sight of the other Gardiners, Mrs. Pike put her plan into action. Jane, who was gradually maneuvering herself closer to young Mr. Bennet, found her arm seized by Mrs. Pike and then drawn off to one side.

Mrs. Pike, doing her best to project a sweet motherly demeanor, whispered "Dear Miss Gardiner, it is clear to me that you admire my nephew Horace."

Jane shyly nodded and smiled.

"I wish you much success," Mrs. Pike told her softly. "He could use a lively young woman at his side, but before he will come to the point you realize that he must have the approval of his father."

Jane listened intently. She thought to herself, Mother did tell me to work hard to gain the approval of his family. She thought, I am glad that his aunt approves and wants to help me.

Mrs. Pike continued, "His father thinks you find his scar repulsive and does not want anyone in his household that feels that way. If you can contrive to ask him about it, you will ease his worry."

"Contrive?" She asked and waited for Mrs. Pike to explain the term which she did.

Once Jane understood Mrs. Pike's meaning, Jane was not sure what to make of this advice. Her mother had stressed repeatedly that she was not to mention the elder Mr. Bennet's scar, that she should ignore it. However, despite her best efforts her eyes often sought it out (it was in fact this habit of Jane's that had led to Leonard believing Jane admired him).

Jane thought, perhaps he has seen me stare at his scar and thinks I find it ugly. Jane reflected and thought some more. She thought, his sister knows him better than my mother; perhaps my mother was wrong in her advice. This thought made her a bit uncomfortable.

Thinking things through and not speaking them aloud as soon as they occurred to her was not her strong suit. Generally, there was very little filter between her thoughts and her speech. However, Jane wanted to succeed with young Mr. Bennet and to do whatever might help her with it, and that did require thinking.

She thought, my mother's advice is usually good. It must be me staring at his scar that requires me to say something rather than remaining silent as she told me.

"I understand." Jane said, trusting that Mrs. Pike was right.

"Splendid," Mrs. Pike whispered with feeling, "I will get you an opportunity to speak with him about it." Mrs. Pike believed all was going splendidly, for herself.

"Horace!" She summoned her nephew closer. "Could you check on Miss Gardiner's brother, Edward? He went to the stables and she is concerned about him as he might get too close to the horses." In fact, Earnest was a sensible lad and Miss Gardiner had no concerns whatsoever about him visiting the horses.

Mrs. Pike's facility with lying should have been a warning to Miss Gardiner but as Jane was not a deep thinker, she only noticed dreamily that when young Mr. Bennet approached his blonde hair appeared even lighter in the sunlight and his eyes were very blue. She smiled to herself, imagining such features on her future son, and all the money that she would have access to, to fund all her dearest dreams.

Despite Horace's previous vow to avoid creating any expectations in any woman, he had been admiring Jane Beenet's fine womanly figure as she walked, and could not help but return her smile for him with a broad smile of his own. Despite his best efforts and knowing that his father might wish to marry her, Horace had trouble imagining her with anyone but himself.

He gave a slight bow before saying, "I am glad to be of service, Miss Gardiner," and then set off for the stables at a trot, anxious to complete his errand and return to her side. Surely his father would be grateful that Miss Bennet was focusing her attention toward Horace as Mrs. Goulding was certainly most suitable for his father.

Horace Bennet will make a fine husband indeed, Jane thought, if he remains willing to do all he can to please me.

"Leonard," Mrs. Pike summoned her brother, "could you come here? Miss Gardiner wishes to speak with you."

As her brother approached, she whispered to Jane, "Do not be afraid, he will feel so much better if you address the issue of his scar, but do not tell him I suggested it to you." Then she released Jane's arm and retreated a little.

"What did you wish to speak to me about, Miss Gardiner?" Leonard gave her a friendly smile and wondered, was she about to give him a hint that she was hoping for a proposal and would accept?

"I, Mr. Bennet, I . . . I wanted to ask you about your scar," was what burst forth from Jane.

When she said "scar," she saw Mr. Bennet's expression darken. Jane wondered if she had made a big mistake (having a less than rich vocabulary, she did not wonder if she made a grave error or a profound miscalculation); Mrs. Pike in observing this interaction was certain that all those terms applied to Miss Gardiner falling into the trap she had laid for her. However, as it turned out it was Mrs. Pike who had made a grave error and profound miscalculation.

Mrs. Pike had never heard her brother talk about his scar and from this she had determined that he must be highly embarrassed about it. She was, perhaps, thinking of how self-conscious she would be if she was marked as he was. She believed he would find a question about it from Miss Gardiner mortifying and complain about her insolence and lack of manners to his son (in stark contrast to Mrs. Pike always acting with the utmost of propriety, as a proper mistress ought), thus fracturing any chance for an understanding arising between Miss Gardiner and either her nephew or her brother.

If Leonard had received his scar from doing something foolish, perhaps he would have been ashamed of it, but as he earned it in honorable service to his country, and knew how fortunate he was to still be alive (Guy and many others had died far too young) he was not embarrassed. He knew he had worth beyond his appearance, while Mrs. Pike as a woman was used to being judged and valued by her appearance.

Percival Pike often told his wife Margaret that he had sought her for her beauty. As her beauty faded, Margaret noticed that Percival came less often to her bed which led Margaret to believe that the two were associated. In fact, Percival remained as attracted to his wife as ever, but as he aged, he began to experience impotency problems and did not want to come to her bed when uncertain he would be able to perform.

Leonard never spoke to his sister about his scar because they never had a close relationship even as children and because he had overheard her deride his naval career as being of little value.

Additionally, although Leonard seldom spoke about his scar, because he had recently spontaneously spoken of it to Mrs. Goulding and received a kind reaction, he did not perceive Miss Gardiner's statement as necessarily being a negative one. His expression darkened as her statement was unexpected and less pleasant that the one he hoped for, not because he was insulted or particularly dismayed.

"What is it you wished to know, Miss Gardiner?"

"How did you get it?" She asked.

He told her and as he related the facts to her, she moved closer to him, examining his scar closely, curiously, but as he was glad to note, with no particular expression of disgust. He felt a mild regret that she had not the conversational skill of Mrs. Goulding, but she definitely had other aspects to her that he was well prepared to admire.

Then she asked innocently, "Does it still hurt?"

"No," he answered, idly scratching at the portion near his hairline before lowering his hand, "it used to itch as it was healing, but it has not bothered me for years. It used to be red and bumpy, but it is smooth now."

Without any reflection, just reaction, she pulled off her glove, reached out and touched his scar, tracing it with one finger.

Miss Gardiner had no way of knowing this, but Leonard's wife Elizabeth had touched his scar in just such a manner, in the confines of her chambers, many times. The first time she touched it was only moments after they had completed their first awkward coupling. He had not wanted to simply withdraw to his own room after their joining but was not sure if he should linger, either.

When his wife had traced his scar with her finger, she had given him permission to remain and that small loving gesture had helped him feel a closeness to her. Over the course of their marriage she had traced his scar many times, but only when they were alone. The closer they grew, the more intimate and loving that action became for him.

So, while Mr. Bennet did not particularly think of his wife when Miss Gardiner did the same, the skin of his scar was highly sensitized to associating such a touch with feelings of tenderness, love and a sort of sacred intimacy. In that moment, Leonard knew that he needed to ask Miss Gardiner's father that evening for her hand.

"Miss Gardiner!" Mrs. Pike cried out, horrified, as she saw Jane touch her brother's face.

Jane snatched her hand away and blushed bright red. "Forgive me, Mr. Bennet, I do not know what I was thinking!"

Mr. Bennet grabbed her hand, held it gently and as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb said, "This little hand has done nothing wrong," before he released it, realizing he was now the one being much too forward.

Jane looked down, saw her glove in her left hand and pulled her glove back on. Her mother had told her to only remove her gloves when they dined.

Mrs. Pike's shout was very loud and when she heard it Mrs. Gardiner hurried forward with her husband and Lydia. She wondered what her daughter Jane could have possibly done to merit Mrs. Pike's disapprobation.

Almost at the same moment, Horace and Earnest also came into view of the others from the far side as they returned from the stable. Horace desired to show Miss Gardiner that he took her concern seriously by retrieving her brother and to perhaps be graced with another one of her smiles.

Mrs. Gardiner was deeply confused. She saw blushes upon the faces of both Jane and the elder Mr. Bennet who were quite near each other, a scowl upon Mrs. Pike's face, and young Mr. Bennet and her son approaching, also looking confused.

As she examined Jane's and the elder Mr. Bennet's faces more closely, she saw embarrassment writ large upon Jane's and guilt upon the elder Mr. Bennet's. In a sudden flash she wondered, has my Jane attracted the wrong Mr. Bennet's notice? The next thought she had was even more distressing, could he have kissed her? And then, is he going to ask for her hand?

These last two thoughts seemed confirmed as the elder Mr. Bennet approached Mr. Gardiner and asked solemnly, "May I speak to you, please?" And before Mrs. Gardiner had the opportunity to say anything to her husband about her suspicions or advise him of what he should do, the two men strode back to the house.

Jane ran to her mother, tears suddenly running down her face, "Mother, I feel unwell, can we please go home?"

"That is a good idea," Mrs. Pike chimed in. Horrible Miss Gardiner could not leave soon enough to please her. If they left, she could stop being the hostess and see if she could eavesdrop on the men's conversation. Mrs. Pike was very worried about what her brother wanted to speak to Mr. Gardiner about and thought it likely that a proposal might be offered. She had no idea how Mr. Gardiner might react.

"Do you really wish to leave, Jane?" Mrs. Gardiner asked gently. Jane nodded.

"Whatever is the matter?" Horace asked, concerned.

If it had occurred at another time, both Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Gardiner would have been glad that Jane merited such concern from him. However, in that moment, they were both much too worried about what Mr. Gardiner and the elder Mr. Bennet were discussing.

Jane thought that as kind as the ugly older Mr. Bennet had been about her mistake (she did not think of it as a _faux pas_ , not knowing that term), he might be telling her father about it and she was deeply embarrassed for having so completely disobeyed her mother. Her mother might have never told her not to touch his scar, but no doubt would have, had she believed Jane needed that specific instruction.

Jane knew that in being told to ignore his scar that certainly touching it was disobedient of her, as was taking off her glove. So, while if she had disobeyed about something else she could have used the excuse of her mother not giving her that specific instruction and likely would have, the real problem was that regardless of whether her mother forgave her, this would not fix the mess she found herself in.

If only she had not touched him, he would not now be talking to her father. She could still feel the sensation of his scar on her finger; it was a smooth groove and not at all unpleasant.

Mrs. Gardiner was wondering whether her husband Edward would accept on Jane's behalf if the elder Mr. Bennet asked for Jane's hand. Although she full well knew that a woman could not be forced to marry against her will, if her husband accepted for Jane she would need to make sure Jane obeyed or disgrace would come to their family.

The elder Mr. Bennet was certainly not who Mrs. Gardiner intended for her Jane, but it would be an acceptable match though not as good as marriage to the younger. As the second Mrs. Bennet, as there was already an heir and unless the younger Mr. Bennet died without issue (a matter that seemed unlikely to Mary Gardiner) Jane's children would not inherit, but she would be well cared for and live in a lovely home. Surely the elder Mr. Bennet had sufficient resources to help any additional sons establish suitable careers and could give his daughters adequate dowries.

However, the more Mrs. Gardiner considered the matter, the more certain she became that her husband would handle the matter properly. Edward was used to dealing with complicated issues all the time in his law practice and he was a prudent man. He would make sure the right thing was done for Jane. Additionally, they had spoken about her hopes for Jane and Mr. Horace, and Edward would be aware of that. Mrs. Gardiner now believed there was no particular benefit to remaining for dinner and it was obvious that her hostess would not be offended if they left and wished them gone.

"Yes, we can leave, Jane," Mrs. Gardiner responded. She then turned to young Mr. Bennet and said, "I thank you for your concern," but did not answer his question about what was wrong as she hardly knew herself. Mrs. Gardiner only thought, surely whatever is now wrong can be remedied by my Edward.

Lydia whined, "I wanted to stay for dinner! It is not fair that we will not get to eat here. The invitation was for all of us and now Jane is ruining everything!"

Lydia thought of how much she wanted to brag to Cecilia and her other friends about dining at the grand house. Saying they had walked in its gardens did not sound nearly as good.

"Lydia!" Her mother's sharp tone and sharper look quelled her outburst, but Mrs. Gardiner was still embarrassed.

Earnest Edward merely grinned and was silent. He was happy to go home. It would mean that he would get to take off his best (but most uncomfortable) clothes. All that he had looked forward to from the visit, seeing the horses (there were only four work horses and not a handsome stallion among them as he had hoped) and examining how the stable was set up (everything seemed well arranged and he admired that), had already been satisfied. He knew that while the food at a fine house such as this would be fancy, he would have to watch his manners and eat unfamiliar food here and pretend that he liked it even if it was snails or fish eggs

Mrs. Gardiner turned to Mrs. Pike, "I am quite regretful, but I believe we must reschedule. Jane is clearly unwell."

"I understand. I hope that Miss Gardiner feels well again soon," Mrs. Pike responded.

Horace, anxious to be of help, offered, "Let me send you home in our carriage."

Mrs. Gardiner graciously accepted as she preferred not to walk home under these circumstances. After they climbed in the carriage and Jane would have spoken, her mother told her, "Wait until we are home." Mrs. Gardiner did not want gossip spread by the coachman.


	15. Chapter 13

_If I receive four or more reviews, I will post the next chapter early, so that you may know the outcome of Leonard Bennet speaking to Edward Gardiner and finally know whether Jane Gardiner will end up engaged to the wrong Mr. Bennet._

 **Chapter 13**

Edward Gardiner was a sensible man by nature and his legal training from his father and his many years practicing law had refined his thinking to make it more logical and linear. He was skilled at finding creative solutions, negotiating settlements, drafting documents to do what his clients actually wanted (as compared with what they thought they wanted) and explaining why certain things would or would not work. He was constantly analyzing what was taking place around him and all the possible implications.

When the elder Mr. Bennet asked to speak with him, Edward knew he was about to entertain an offer for his daughter and he was feeling annoyance at his wife's machinations.

Edward had not attempted to reason his wife out of trying to match young Mr. Bennet with Jane. He saw the logic and good sense of such a pairing and even if he thought it somewhat unlikely, he believed if anyone could engineer such an outcome it was his wife.

Edward understood that his daughters were somewhat silly girls who had somehow not inherited the intelligence of their parents, but that they were also very lovely. They were lovely because his wife Mary was lovely. Because they had unfurnished upper stories, they needed husbands who could take care of them and there were no better prospects among the single men to marry his Jane than the one his wife had selected.

Edward, as much as his head had been turned by his Mary, would not have married her if she had been as pudding-headed as his daughters. While her position in life was decidedly below his own when they married, he believed he demonstrated fine discernment in being savvy enough to take note her appearance, her intelligence and her good sense and determine that these things made her an excellent choice. Once he came to this conclusion, he pursued her and won her before anyone else could and the years had proven the value of this decision.

Mary, had she been asked, would have given a decidedly different account of how their courtship had come to take place. She was not ignorant of the power of her appearance but did her best while working in the Robinson household to conceal herself from the notice of the master and the male servants of that house. She and her sister Catherine knew from what their mother had told them (she had been in service herself, after all) that a serious pitfall for attractive women in service was that they might be opportuned by the men of the family they served or the male servants.

Mary knew she was more than intelligent enough to become the housekeeper when its current occupant was ready to retire and had done all she could to position herself to be a likely choice when the time came and had ingratiated herself with Mrs. Robinson (the mother of the current Mr. Robinson) to make it an easy choice for her. However, it was a delicate balancing act to gain the attention of the mistress of the house and impress her, without garnering the attention of the master and unfortunately Mary had failed in this task, though she did not know what she had done wrong.

In fact, the fault did not lie with Mary but with her mistress. Mrs. Robinson chanced to praise Mary's efforts to her husband. Mrs. Robinson had said of Mary, "I think I shall direct our housekeeper to give that upstairs maid of ours, Place, more duties. She is a pretty little thing, but so smart and accommodating of everything."

This comment had resulted in her husband asking the butler, "Can you find out more about Place, the upstairs maid? My wife is quite pleased with her."

Thus within a few days' time, though neither had previously paid much attention to the girl that now beginning to take on a womanly form; now they both knew who she was and had noticed her beauty despite her best attempts to conceal it. Mr. Robinson never forgot that his wife had described her as accommodating and he had some interest in discovering just how accommodating she was. While the butler had not heard such a comment, in noticing how Mr. Robinson seemed a bit enamored, he thought he might want to discover the pleasures she could give a man for himself.

The butler, having more time with his fellow servants (though nominally he was in charge of the male servants and the housekeeper was in charge of the female servants), had one morning half-cornered Mary when she was alone and said, "Let me taste those pretty lips." Mary had shied away, run down the back stairs and almost collided with a kitchen maid, but she had gotten away.

Mary knew the butler was up to no good. If the butler had been single, she might have tried to turn his pursuit into an offer of marriage. It was not unknown for a butler and housekeeper to be married, and such a couple could do quite well for being in service. However, one could not rise to be the housekeeper and raise children (and Mary did not have a mother who could tend any children for her). However, in this case, the butler was most decidedly married to the current housekeeper. It was quite to Mary's advantage that she was fleet of foot and the butler had a middle age paunch that slowed him down, but it was quite frustrating to always be listening for his step, or to try to be cleaning by another.

Mary knew that making an accusation against the butler would not go well for her. Likely, she would only succeed in establishing herself as a woman of loose morals who was unfit for service. The only way to deal with the butler was to take care to never be anywhere where he could catch her alone, an easier task to set than accomplish.

While Mr. Robinson had not been as bold as the butler, Mary had chanced to see how his eyes were now always focused on her when she was in the same room as him. She did not like his hungry look and also feared that Mrs. Robinson would notice and think it was her fault.

Mary had no wish to become the convenient of Mr. Robinson. She knew there was no quicker way of losing her position in the household, not to mention the disgrace of being publicly turned out and the chance of "spraining her ankle."

She knew if there was any whiff that she might be a romp (whether or not she bore a merry-begotten child), not only would she be turned out and become destitute, it would also cause her sister to lose her position and likely their only options would then be to seek employment in a nunnery. She had no desire to become a woman of pleasure or to be the cause her sister Catherine having to do to the same.

Mary knew that she either needed to find another position or soon marry. The situation could turn out very badly for her if she waited too long.

In the inquires she made, it quickly became clear that any hope she might have of quickly gaining another equivalent position was unwarranted. Any new position would have been a decided step down and given the ages of the housekeepers in those households, she was unlikely to ever succeed to such a position. This decided her strategy toward matrimony.

While there were single men in service, they were not good candidates as they would not have the funds to support her when she would need to leave service to bear their children. She needed someone who had the resources to marry her, would not be blinded by her being in service, would treat her well and would want to marry her. Fortunately, she already had a candidate in mind in Meryton.

While other women in service might have used their half days over the years to simply enjoy themselves and complete their errands, while Mary did all of this she was also busy observing and cataloguing potential marital prospects (just in case succeeding to housekeeper did not take place).

Ever since Mary was about thirteen years of age, she began taking note of which men were single, what their prospects were and what was known of the ones that might fit her requirements. Edward Gardiner caught her eye when he began working in his father's law practice. It quickly became known that his father was pleased with his work, which was sensible and prudent.

While his father was healthy, Edward had good prospects as the eldest son being trained to succeed his father. She noted he was not prone to strong drink and was not courting anyone. He was quite ordinary in appearance, but she noticed there was a pleasing symmetry to his face and his teeth were better than average (as were her own).

Appearance was only a minor consideration to Mary and only in the most general way. It was not important whether she was attracted to the man she might decide should become her husband. She only wished to avoid anyone who might make her bear ugly children (as it would be hard later to make suitable matches for unattractive daughters).

Mary was very prudent. A full year before Mary noticed the interest that both the butler and Mr. Robinson seemed to have in her, she used the knowledge she had gained over the years to make sure she was known to the whole Gardiner family, just in case a life in service might not be for her. First, she contrived to speak Miss Gardiner at church, just a little exchange of no import. Gradually she cultivated an acquaintance with her. It was from this casual exchange that she first learned about a church association that Mrs. Gardiner headed up.

She waited two months after she learned of this association to humbly approach Mrs. Gardiner about joining the Benevolent Society which made garments for the poor which were distributed through the church. She spent hours in preparation sewing a skilled garment which she then brought to church in a basket. After the service concluded, she exchanged a few words with Miss Gardiner and then asked, "Do you suppose I could trouble your mother for a moment?"

Given that she had never been formally introduced to Mrs. Gardiner, it was well that she had Miss Gardiner then do so. After giving a respectful curtsey, Mary asked, "Mrs. Gardiner, could I speak with you a moment?"

Mrs. Gardiner was a kindly lady, so she said, "But of course. What can I do for you, Miss Place"

Mary made sure to look down humbly as she said, "I do not wish to disturb you on a Sunday, but I have little time away from my duties in which to visit Meryton, so I hope I am not too presumptuous to speak to you now."

"It is fine, child. What do you need?"

"I am hoping that perhaps I can help with making some of the garments for the poor, Miss Gardiner has told me of the Benevolent Society. I have a bit of skill, at least that is what Mrs. Robinson has told me." Eyes still humbly downcast, she pulled a shirt out of her basket that she had spent hours working on in hopes of impressing Mrs. Gardiner.

Mrs. Gardiner and her daughter examined the shirt with interest. There was no extra embellishment, just very even stitches and a pleasant uniformity they would not have expected from a woman of only seventeen.

"It is a good effort my child. Is this a donation for me to distribute?" Mrs. Gardiner asked.

"Yes, certainly, if you think it good enough."

"We could always use more skilled sewing," Mrs. Gardiner told her, taking more note of Mary than she ever had before. Thus, it was that Mary Place became only one of two ladies in service who stitched garments for the poor and became known among the church's Benevolent Society. In the weeks that followed, Mary used much of her leisure time to stitch other clothing. Mrs. Gardiner, perceiving that Mary could sew quicker than she had funds to spend on cloth and notions, began to give her those. Mrs. Gardiner was delighted to have such a faithful worker for her cause and Mary Place was glad to establish that she deserved to be associating with women above her in rank.

Once Mary determined that she should marry, knowing she had already gained the approbation of his mother and sister, she believed it was now time to win over his father and the man himself. Thus, on her half day, rather than waiting to give the newest garment (a small gown for an infant), she visited Mr. Gardiner's offices and very humbly asked his clerk if Mr. Gardiner might have a moment to spare but did not enter the offices.

Mr. Gardiner met her by the door and Mary pulled a small wrapped package out from her basket and placed it in his hands along with a note written with fine penmanship and asked him to convey them to his wife. She then said, "Mr. Gardiner, I feared that Mrs. Brown's lying in might conclude before Sunday and she might have need of this item before I could bring it to church, yet it is too far for me to walk before I must be back to serve my mistress and from here I must visit the bookshop."

Mr. Gardiner accepted the duty to pass the items onto his wife and then had the pleasure of hearing Mary tell him, "I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Gardiner, and I am so sorry to have interrupted your most important work. I admire your wife greatly. Mrs. Gardiner is all that is kind and benevolent. However, I am sure it is your example that has inspired her efforts in charity. I have heard how you have employed small beggar boys to sweep your offices before and are always fair in the price you give for legal documents to those of little means."

Mr. Gardiner was left feeling quite satisfied with how well he and his wife were perceived by the humble young lady with the fine stitching. Edward Gardiner, who chanced to hear a bit of the exchange, recognized Miss Place from church and seeing her converse with his mother and sister. He noticed her find form and earnestness. It took only this brief interaction to charm them both. As the note was deliberately left unfolded, they both marveled over her elegant hand and flawless word choice.

When Mr. Gardiner set the package down, he noticed that another slip of paper was sticking out from the bottom of the package. It looked to be a list of items that Miss Place needed to buy. He concluded (fully incorrectly), that this list must have somehow accidentally become caught up with the package from Miss Place. (In fact, she had deliberately handed over both things, to give either of the Mr. Gardiners a chance to return it to her).

Edward Gardiner volunteered to run over to the bookstore to return the list to Miss Place and his father, wishing to prove just how kind and benevolent he was, urged him on. Thus, it was that Mary contrived for Edward Gardiner to meet her at the bookshop (what a strange irony that was, it was the shop that her father had owned at one time, though upon his death her mother learned he husband was no businessman and she and her daughters needed to find gainful employment).

They had a most pleasant exchange at the bookstore and in the weeks that followed she contrived to meet him at the cobbler's and other locations (sometimes letting him catch her gaze, sometimes pretending not to notice him, so he would need to approach and greet her). She made sure that he knew she was well read, could converse intelligently, was prudent with her money and, most importantly of all, when she believed she had caught his interest, she arranged to knock her bonnet off her head so that he could both assist her and note her as an attractive woman.

Mary Place was unsurprised but delighted when Edward Gardiner proposed. She gently encouraged him that they ought to quickly marry (the situation with the butler had only grown more dire, he had ripped one of her uniforms when trying to grab her, but fortunately she was able to mend it well enough that no one had ever known). The rector was willing to marry them without a guardian's consent, once he learned she had no living male relatives, and fortunately for Mary once the first of the bans were read, the men of the household had enough sense to leave her alone.

However, no one had ever heard Mary's account for how she had landed Mr. Gardiner as that was not the sort of thing one bandied about and she certainly would never let her husband think that their marriage was anything other than his own idea. However, this secret knowledge had informed the efforts she made to help her Jane acquire a proposal from Horace Bennet.


	16. Chapter 14

_Well Jan (Jansfamily4) submitted the fourth review for the last chapter a day before I was set to give you all your weekly post. Therefore, you can thank her for getting you this chapter and then look forward to my regular posting tomorrow._

 **Chapter 14**

Leonard Bennet was silent as he and Mr. Gardiner walked to the house. He was silent as they entered his study. He was silent as he closed the door. He was even silent after they both sat down.

Mr. Gardiner did not have any problem with silence. He knew that Mr. Bennet would speak when he was ready, and his silence gave Mr. Gardiner time to consider what was likely to be said and the possible strategies he could employ.

Mr. Gardiner was concerned about the entail on Longbourn. His father drafted Phineas Bennet's first will in which Leonard Bennet would inherit only a life estate with the tail to his eldest male heir. Edward and his father also drafted Phineas Bennet's final will which he had thought was a skilled piece of legal maneuvering at the time, as Phineas wanted to make sure that Leonard could not sell the estate even after his son came of age, but still provide for Leonard.

This final will, drafted after Leonard Bennet's son Horace turned ten, granted Horace a life estate with the tail to his eldest male heir (or if there was none, to the eldest direct male heir of Phineas's male line, with preference to his direct descendants). It also gave Leonard the right to employment as a sort of steward to Longbourn with the unusual provision that he had the rights to its proceeds which did not need to be reinvested into the estate until Leonard reached his majority and took over such duties, at which time Leonard would be the master and have rights to the proceeds of the estate.

Mr. Gardiner was concerned that Leonard Bennet might be out at his heels and elbows and just be living at Longbourn as a sort of filial privilege. For all he knew, Leonard's pockets were at low tide. He wondered if Leonard married Jane whether he would have anything to settle upon her or their future children. Edward did not think Leonard a spendthrift but did not know if he had amassed anything in the nearly ten years since Phineas Bennet had passed or if he had invested almost everything back into the estate to profit his son.

And even if Leonard Bennet might have some funds of his own, Edward really would prefer his daughter marry Horace instead. While Edward was certain that he and Mary could convince Jane to marry Leonard, he would not delight in matching her to a man of more years than his own age who would leave her a widow far too soon.

Edward knew Jane was excited about the prospect of marrying Horace and might enjoy quite a long life with him. The entail was not ideal, but it could be Jane's son that would inherit, quite a nice prospect for her. Mr. Gardiner wondered if there was a way to negotiate the marriage of his daughter to Horace instead of Leonard.

Finally, Leonard spoke. He needed to get the words out even though it felt like a noose was tightening around his neck; he finally understood why some referred to marriage as the parson's noose. He knew by taking this step he was irrevocably condemning himself to live his whole life at Longbourn and giving up the sea forever; he was decidedly uncomfortable in voluntarily entering the mouse trap.

"Mr. Gardiner, I wish to marry Miss Gardiner. Will you grant me her hand?"

Edward answered, "Before you commit to asking me this question, I would like to know what transpired in the garden."

Leonard explained. Edward was relieved; marriage was not required in his opinion.

Edward said, "Mr. Bennet, truly you are a man of honor. I have the deepest of respect for you, but this step is unnecessary. She acted out of curiosity and not passion."

Leonard answered, "Think you then that her heart is not engaged?"

Edward wanted to laugh but having good regulation over his body necessitated by often dealing with somewhat ridiculous requests from his clients, his face remained bland. He thought he could still salvage the situation.

"My understanding from Mrs. Gardiner is that Jane favors your son but respects you. I believe she wanted to know about the man who might one day be as a father to her. My Jane is a caring girl."

"Ah," was all Leonard said as he mentally reviewed all interaction Miss Gardiner had with him and Horace. He immediately understood what Mr. Gardiner did not say, that Horace was a more likely object for a young woman's affections than a broken down and scarred man such as himself. He wondered that he had not seen it before.

"I am, however, somewhat concerned about my daughter's reputation," Mr. Gardiner added. He was determined to do what his wife's machinations could not. He cared about Jane's future as much as his wife did.

"Her touching the face of her future father could be excused and overlooked. Touching the face of a man wholly unconnected with herself could not."

Leonard did not want to harm Miss Gardiner. He felt at fault for being so unguarded with her about his injury. He had the time, opportunity and obligation to pull back when she made to touch him. She was an innocent who would not know all the implications of her actions. At five and forty, he knew better.

Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Mrs. Goulding. If she touched his face, she would have known what she was about.

He considered Miss Gardiner; she was certainly lovely. In truth when she paid attention to him, she had touched his vanity and not his heart. The idea of relishing one who was forced out of necessity to marry him, did not sit well with him. He wondered whether Horace might want to marry her in his stead.

"You think Miss Gardiner likes Horace?" Leonard asked, considering.

"Yes," Mr. Gardiner answered, "and if I am not mistaken, your son favors her as well."

Leonard tried to imagine Miss Gardiner as Horace's wife. He wanted Horace to be happy.

"Will you excuse me for a few moments?" Leonard asked.

"Take as much time as you need, I am quite at leisure," Mr. Gardiner replied. He was very pleased but did not let it show.

Leonard sought out Horace and found that he was still out in the garden. He was a bit surprised to find him all alone and looking slightly distressed.

"Where are our guests?" Leonard asked.

"They left," Horace answered. "Miss Gardiner was quite upset, crying in fact, but would not tell me what was wrong."

"What is wrong is that your father is an old fool."

Horace looked at his father quizzically.

"I thought she might be growing fond of _me_ ," Leonard confided, "but she fancies _you_. I do not truly wish to be a colt's tooth. I have as much need of her as my wife as a dog of a side pocket, but you my boy need an heir. I think she would make you a fine bride."

Horace gave a slight smile, and decided to edit what he knew, to make it more palatable for his father. "I thought she might favor me, but I did not want to get in your way or for her to come between us. You had already told me of your interest and I wanted you happy."

"I made a grave mistake today, Horace." Leonard then explained what had happened, why he believed himself at fault and why he believed marriage was now necessary.

"But no one saw this besides Aunt Pike?" Horace questioned. "Can she not be asked to keep the matter private? I dare say she would not be long tongued about a matter such as this."

If they had asked Mrs. Pike she would have certainly agreed and counted her blessings that the matter could have been disposed of so easily.

"Perhaps it could have remained private, Horace, had I not just explained the whole of the matter to her father and asked for her hand. Mr. Gardiner maintains that I need not marry her, but he is concerned for her reputation and is waiting to see what will be done to salvage it. I know not if Miss Gardiner is the sort of girl who will keep her actions private or be the type of leaky baggage that chooses to tell everyone and will inadvertently sink her own reputation."

Leonard gave Horace a moment to absorb this information before he added, "I believe if you married her that would be an adequate solution. And now that our servants have seen her flee before attending a dinner in tears, they may be trying to determine what horrors befell her here. I dare say she is horrified that she might need to marry me."

Horace made no comment but felt a deep pity for his father that he felt a woman he had desired might view him with horror. He wonderful if his father really believed Miss Gardiner might feel that way or was simply exaggerating to make light of perhaps a deep hurt felt at this rejection of a dear hope. He knew despite his father's outward appearance that he was a kind man who would care for any woman who tied herself to him.

"Do you wish me to marry her?" Horace asked.

"Could you be happy with her?" Leonard asked in return.

Horace pondered a bit. He knew very little about women. They were almost a separate species to him. In truth he would never have attended the assembly if he was not trying to find someone for his father. While women were around him all the time as mop squeezers, and there were the bedmakers at Cambridge, the only woman he had been close to was his mother.

While at school and university he focused on his studies and was not prone to participate in social engagements. He had never even visited a nugging-house. He would be happy to just pick a wife and be done with it.

He did find Miss Gardiner very lovely and could imagine basket-making with her. She was lively. He smiled more around her. He never expected to fall arsy yarsey. He knew that his parents had not loved one another when they married, but that love could come.

Would he be happy with her? He was not sure. He did not know her well enough to know. He supposed she could add to his happiness, but she was not a substitute for his father.

"Would you stay if I married her or would you feel the need to go away and avoid her?" Horace asked his father. He did not want to do anything that might drive his father away.

"You do not need me, Horace."

Horace decided that now was the time to negotiate with his father. "I will marry her if you remain."

Leonard was not prepared for this counter demand. "Forever?" His voice sounded oddly high-pitched in his ears. He had no wish to commit himself in this way.

"Can you stay a few years or at least a couple of years?" Horace bargained, hoping that with a delay he might in fact convince his father to remain much longer.

Leonard gave a small sigh in relief. "Yes, I could do that, son."

"Then I will marry her," Horace answered. He felt a bit of trepidation, but also contentment. A small part of himself was also feeling deep amusement at the situation. He, who had at present no desire to marry, was going to marry a woman his father had desired, to keep said father from leaving. He felt there was a joke in that; maybe it was amusing to God himself?

"However, I am concerned that she is not ready to be the mistress of Longbourn." Horace had not forgotten his talk with his father about what the estate required.

Leonard considered, "We will take that matter up with her father."

When Leonard returned with Horace, Mr. Gardiner knew his gamble had paid off, but waited for them to tell him. He happily accepted on behalf of his daughter and requested that the bans begin on the next Sunday.

Mr. Gardiner hoped that he and his wife could keep the Bennet men from seeing what a pudding-heading woman Jane was until after the marriage took place. He at least had the satisfaction of knowing however horrible a mistress his daughter might be of the estate, the Bennets had enough money that they could ameliorate her errors without disaster. If she were to be matched to a man of more humble means, cleverness would be more essential to their future prosperity. They rescheduled the dinner, which would now be an engagement dinner, for the following night.

As to the issue of his daughter becoming ready to serve as mistress of the estate, Mr. Gardiner suggested that his wife would help prepare Jane for her new role should they provide a list of her expected responsibilities. Although his wife had never run an estate, he had confidence that she could help. The Bennet men certainly deserved all the help his Mary could give them.


	17. Chapter 15

_Shout outs to my six loyal and wonderful reviewers for the past few chapters: Deanna27, liysyl, Shelby66, RegencyLover, LoveMySofa and Jansfamily4. To anyone else reading this, I'd love to add you to their number!_

 _For anyone reading along as chapters are posted, I posted the previous chapter last night so make sure to read that one before this one. Again, for each four reviews I receive for a chapter, I will post another chapter early, but otherwise will post again next Thursday._

 **Chapter 15**

During the ride home, although brief, Jane resolved that she did not actually wish to speak to her mother about the embarrassing situation that had occurred. Thus, once home Jane fled to her room and buried her eyes in her pillow.

Mrs. Gardiner gave Jane a minute alone while requesting that their maid make a simple meal as they had missed dinner. Unfortunately, their current girl, Jenny, was none too bright, but as Mrs. Gardiner knew she was needed elsewhere, she repeated silently to herself, "It is well past time to test her mettle."

Jenny had assisted Mrs. Gardiner with the cooking enough times that she ought to have a sense of how to do it. Mrs. Gardiner noticed as she climbed the stairs that Earnest, left to his own devices, had fetched an apple and was happily eating it while sitting halfway up the staircase.

"Jenny is making dinner," she told him, pausing as she reached him.

Earnest grimaced and then asked, "May I have the raw scraps for my hen?"

She nodded, wondering to herself what Jenny would end up fixing. There was food aplenty in their root cellar, fresh eggs sat in a basket in their kitchen and many plants were producing in their garden.

But all thoughts of their upcoming meal were swept away once Mary Gardiner reached her daughters' room where she was faced with a sobbing Jane. As Mary stroked Jane's back she asked, "Jane, dear, will not you tell me what happened?"

Jane shook her head and forced out additional tears. She hoped by doing so to avoid having to talk to her mother about her errors.

Lydia watched, curious. This was certainly the most interesting event since the assembly, however once Lydia realized that her sister had no intention of talking to their mother, she became bored.

When Jane heard the squeak of the door below and her father's familiar footsteps (too heavy and deliberate to be Earnest's or Jenny's), she could not help but leap up from her bed (tears suddenly dried) and run down the stairs to find out what had occurred. Her mother and sister were right behind her.

"You are to be congratulated Jane," her father told her when the whole family was assembled around their table while waiting for their meal. "No one else but my Jane could win herself a willing groom by touching his father's scar."

"Horace Bennet has asked for Jane's hand?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, astonished but delighted (she was curious about the circumstances Edward had mentioned but that could wait until later).

"Not only asked but been accepted. The bans will begin being called on Sunday."

Jane was happy, truly she was. The bright future her mother had promised her was now to be hers.

Only one thing bothered her, "But he did not propose to me!"

"Jane dear, be reasonable," her father said, "what could be more natural than for him to ask your father? After all, we knew you wanted to be his bride and now it is all arranged; only the date needs to be set. You need only pick a day during the week that starts with the third reading."

"But is that enough time to have everything ready?" In Jane's mind her wedding should be something extraordinary to reflect her new status.

Mary and Edward exchanged a look. Mary understood what Edward's eyes were saying. They needed to get their daughter wed quickly before Horace Bennet might think the better of the arrangement.

"Certainly," her mother responded. "Mr. Gardiner, Jane must have a new gown for her wedding and I shall sew it myself if I may purchase the necessary fabric and items. She will also need additional items befitting her new station."

"Of course, my dear," Edward nodded. His nod said, this will satisfy Jane.

Mary's answering nod said, I shall keep her well occupied through shopping and other wedding preparations to avoid them spending too much time together now and figuring out what a goosecap she is.

"When can we visit the shops?" Jane asked, her temporary disappointment evaporating. "When can we tell the Kings?"

"Tomorrow we will visit the Bennets for your engagement dinner and I will work out your marital settlement beforehand. Once the documents are signed you may tell everyone of your good fortune and then begin shopping."

They were much occupied by discussing Jane's future, so much so that Mary Gardiner did not even wonder why dinner was taking so long, much less interrupt the discussion to check on Jenny's dinner preparations. Thus, when dinner was finally served, Mary was pleased that the simple meal looked somewhat palatable, though the odor was one that she associated with medicine.

It appeared Jenny had fried the potatoes and carrots in a pan over their stove but had not cooked them long enough for them to be cooked through to the middle. While this was mildly annoying with the carrots, it was quite unpleasant when it came to the potatoes. Additionally, perhaps in an attempt to disguise that the meal was rather thin, she had added comfrey to the lard she fried them in.

Mrs. Gardiner had planted the comfrey for its medicinal properties and not as a flavoring for food and Jenny must have picked the largest leaves which were hairy, with a rough texture and rather slimy. At least she had neglected to chop them up, so it was easy enough to remove them as all the Gardiners were doing.

"What a waste of hen feed," Earnest commented. Mary said nothing; she planned to discuss what Jenny should have done differently later and in private, but she silently agreed.

Regrettably, the flavor had penetrated the lard and they were forced to choke down the unappetizing meal. Earnest now regretted that they had not eaten at Longbourn and he was not the only one.

Mrs. Gardiner was cheered by the idea that though Jane had not made good progress with learning to cook (the meal likely would have been worse had Jane been asked to cook it) that there must certainly be a cook at Longbourn. She mentioned that to Mr. Gardiner and he told he, "We will soon enough find out what is expected of Jane as mistress of Longbourn. Mr. Bennet will provide a list. I hope you do not mind, dear, but I volunteered that you could help Jane learn her duties."

"That is an excellent notion, Mr. Gardiner," she commented, "as who better to prepare her than I. I am glad the task shall not be left to Mrs. Pike."

"Mrs. Pike is horrible," Jane contributed.

Jane had not been paying any attention to the discussion. She had only caught perhaps every word in ten after it was resolved when she could shop for wedding clothes and tell all her friends about her engagement. Her mind was well occupied with the fantasies of London trips, grand balls and how envious all her friends would be. Her ears, however, caught at the mention of Mrs. Pike's name though she had not attended to anything that came before.

"Mrs. Pike yelled at me and I did nothing wrong. It was her fault that I even talked to Mr. Bennet about his scar." She then relayed Mrs. Pike's advice and how it triggered the chain of events that occurred.

It was clear to both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner that Mrs. Pike had sought to sabotage any romance between their Jane and either of the Mr. Bennets, but the smiles Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged said, oh how satisfying that in fact her actions were the catalyst to Jane's understanding with Horace Bennet.

"I shall have to ask Mr. Bennet when Mrs. Pike's visit shall end," Mr. Gardiner stated to no one in particular. If he had any say in the matter, she would be gone as soon as could be.

Meanwhile back at Longbourn, Mrs. Pike was very upset. Although neither Leonard nor Horace had yet told her of the engagement, she had listened effectively enough at Leonard's study door to understand that Horace was to marry Miss Gardiner. She was highly displeased and wondered if there might yet be a way to prevent it.

Mrs. Pike did not want to return to either her son's or daughter's house. She well knew what it meant to be mistress of Longbourn and was most eager to retain the position by any means necessary. She was anxious, though, in thinking that it might already be too late to save her position.


	18. Chapter 16

_You can all thank Deanna27 for being the fourth reviewer of Chapter 15 and earning you another early chapter.  
_

 **Chapter 16**

The following day, Mr. Gardiner called on the men at Longbourn to discuss the dowry he could offer and then worked out Jane's settlement with the Mr. Bennets. Mr. Gardiner was not worried about Jane's future well-being, at least not overly so. Her future son, the Bennet heir, would take care of his mother.

Edward Gardiner did feel a bit of regret that he had helped draft Phineas Bennet's will with an entail that prevented Horace from providing something definite to Jane upon his death, but consoled himself that it was a common enough practice and if the entail had been to Horace that perhaps he would have joined with his father in a common recovery action in which they would then be able to sell the estate and both would have left Hertfordshire, leaving his daughter without Horace to be her groom.

The Bennets, though, were more than generous with providing for Jane's pin money during Horace's lifetime based on estimated estate profits of fifteen hundred to two thousand pounds annually. Privately, Edward thought that his daughter would find a way to exceed even the most generous of amounts, but that would not be his problem.

However, it was a point of pride for Edward that even though he was a mere country attorney that he could supply Jane with a sizable dowry for someone with his annual income. Contributing five thousand pounds made the match respectable and would raise the status of his whole family.

He and Mary were careful with their money. They chose to live in a small house and have only a maid of all trade who returned home each night and a laundress that came once a week. Because their maid did not live in the house, the servant quarters had been converted into a bedroom for Earnest, allowing them to stay in a house that was small for their family size.

Mary cooked, distilled, sewed, mended and tended to their vegetable garden. She could also do any of the tasks that Jenny did, probably twice as efficiently as Jenny (they typically hired maids that were inexperienced and consequentially less expensive who often departed for greener pastures when adequately trained by Mary). She now headed up the Benevolent Society, having succeeded to his mother's role in coordinating the making and distributing of clothing for the poor.

Mary was not made for idleness and Edward thought himself much wiser in his choice of a bride than Horace. Though Mary had come to him with nothing but her clothes, some of her saved salary, a few personal items that fit in a small box and a necklace that had been her mother's, she had more than proven her worth.

Jane's dowry did not offset her limitations and flaws; while he and Mary had done their best, Jane was too often idle with her head filled with fancies. It pained him to think so poorly of her because he loved his daughter, but he was not blind to her flaws. It was fortunate that she was so comely and good tempered. They had done well in securing her future through this marriage.

Because of the relatively prosperous nature of Longbourn, there was no need for Jane's dowry to devolve to her husband and then be lost to the estate; instead Edward, Leonard and Horace worked out that if Horace did not predecease Jane, that upon Jane's death these funds would go to her children. Edward made sure to leave how exactly it would be divided flexible but that it would not devolve solely to the heir. If, heaven forbid, Jane should only bear daughters, it could be used for her maintenance or could be equally split among such daughters or apportioned as she might later designate. Edward fully expected, however, that Horace would be able to supply his daughters with adequate dowries and support his wife even in her widowhood; if Edward could do so, how much more could an estate owner receiving an income of two thousand a year!

Edward was still saving money towards Lydia's dowry (he had more than four thousand pounds saved thus far); he resolved that Lydia should not come out until he had amassed the rest or she turned seventeen. Edward also hoped to be able to thereafter set money aside for his namesake to help establish him in a business of his choosing as Earnest Edward did not seem inclined to follow in his footsteps.

Earnest seemed to his father to be a natural trader. Mr. Gardiner fondly remembered how one evening Earnest proudly showed him a brown and bedraggled hen he had acquired which was temporarily housed in a small box which Earnest had lined with an old shirt. As Earnest usually had only pennies to spend that he earned from their neighbors for doing the most laborious of tasks, Mr. Gardiner could not account for how Earnest could have obtained even this scrawny hen and so asked, "How did you get the hen, son?"

"Do you remember a month ago when I did all the extra chores for Mother in exchange for her old hat?"

"Yes."

"Well I had in mind the goal of rescuing this hen from the Kings. I had to work out what I could offer to obtain her, and then work backwards to decide on the initial trades necessary to get the right items. I traded the hat to a poorer friend who wished a gift for his sister as she is soon to be a married woman and they are of humble means. In exchange for the hat I gained some thirty marbles, a hoop and a sizable collection of tin soldiers. I then traded these toys to the Kings, who wanted a birthday gift for their son Pete, in exchange for their scrawny unwanted hen. I think they thought I wanted her for the pot, but given how little meat she had, it would be good riddance."

Ernest then asked, "Father could you lend me some money for appropriate laying feed?"

Not knowing anything about laying hens, Edward asked Earnest, "Do you think she can be a good laying hen? I should not wish to lend you money that you cannot repay."

"Father, I am convinced I will have great success. I heard the hen's mother, who was owned by the milliner's family, the Andrews, laid many eggs. I am certain this young hen can be produce just as well if cared for appropriately, yet she clearly has not had enough to eat. The Kings were mostly keeping her in crate with little sunlight and how could a hen be expected to lay well if underfed and without light? Mrs. Andrews is proud of her hens and it did not take me long to find out from her how much she regretted bartering the hen to our neighbors. She was trying to do them a good turn, but they squandered it by ignoring all her advice. She was also most helpful in teaching me just what she feeds her hens."

"I shall be glad to help you son." Mr. Gardiner both helped Earnest by lending him money to purchase the feed and wooden shipping boxes, which they then made over into a coup and a nesting box. Mr. Gardiner enjoyed that he was able to build these things together with his son.

After the feed was acquired and the hen's accommodations built, Earnest asked, "How much do I owe you, Father?"

Mr. Gardiner had replied, "Nothing son, I wish to see how you project shall go. I admire your determination."

"That will not do, Father, I will be able to pay you in eggs." They then discussed the price of eggs and how many eggs it would take to satisfy Earnest's debt.

In the weeks that followed, at first there were no eggs and Mr. Gardiner worried that all of his son's hard work would be for naught, but Earnest was unperturbed. "Mrs. Andrews told me it would take a while of proper feed for the hen to begin laying. Helena Hen was fed so poorly before it was all she could do to keep herself in feathers. Helena Hen is looking less peaked and is already putting on weight."

Mr. Gardiner smiled at the hen's name and wondered to himself how his son had arrived on it but said nothing; he hoped his son's devotion to the hen would be rewarded. He was impressed how diligent his son was in caring for the hen. He often then watched his son fed Helena Hen dandelions and bugs he found. Earnest had arranged for his mother to save the trimmings off of their vegetables for his hen; Helena was especially fond of the greens that grew a top carrots that his mother cut off before cooking the carrots.

One night as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lay in bed, they discussed Earnest's project. "He is quite devoted to Helena Hen," Mary commented, "I have a feeling that boy will be a good businessman and also a caring husband and father someday."

"It is certainly true," Edward commented. "All the treats he brings her reminds me of when we courted. If I brought you gifts as often as Earnest brings things to her, I could have married you months earlier."

Mary Gardiner smiled to herself, thinking, Edward always thinks that it was his own idea that he proposed and married, but the timing of it all was all up to me.

In a few weeks Helena Hen began laying eggs, usually one or two a day and Mr. Gardiner was impressed by just how quickly Earnest was able to pay him back in eggs. His son's hunch about the hen's potential had turned out to be correct.

Mr. Gardiner was also both amused and impressed that Earnest had worked out a sort of harness for Helena Hen which allowed the bird to be tethered outside of their house for part of the day and have access to fresh insects and grubs which Earnest had learned were important for producing the best eggs. Earnest kept the hen in eyesight during these times as he worked on his lessons.

Even after Earnest's debt was repaid to his father, Earnest proudly supplied his parents with eggs.

"I will pay you," Edward told his son, when eggs kept appearing in a basket in the kitchen.

"No, Father," Earnest insisted, "You are my family and men should supply their families with good food."

Edward was quite proud of his son but thought he would still need some capital to start out in London someday. Earnest was well worth the investment.

After the settlement documents were signed, Mr. Gardiner relayed what he had learned about Mrs. Pike's actions. Leonard Bennet had not been pleased. He resolved that he must discuss the matter with Horace posthaste and together they should set the conditions for Mrs. Pike to remain in their home. However, he was loath to disturb his son at present as Horace had retreated to his room for important business.

Leonard decided that now was not the time to have it out with his sister. He settled for simply telling her, "Margaret, I expect you to show every respect to the Gardiner family; Miss Gardiner is soon to be family. We will all celebrate my son's engagement at dinner."


	19. Chapter 17

_I decided to give you a 2 for 1 as this and the next chapter really go together._

 **Chapter 17**

Horace's important business was trying to decide how to formally propose to Jane. During a short break from finalizing the settlement documents, when the men took a bit of tea, Mr. Gardiner plainly told him, "Jane expects and deserves a proper proposal" and his father had added, "I agree."

Horace was hoping that he would not have to make a formal proposal, but decided he really had no choice in the matter, and it would not do to immediately upset his future father or bride, so he replied, "Yes, of course."

Thus, when his father and Mr. Gardiner were discussing Mrs. Pike, Horace had already retreated to his chambers to try to decide how best to propose. He tried to come up with an original composition but found it too hard to speak of love without feeling love. Then he turned to his poetry books for help.

Horace thought he could credibly adapt some of phrases from the poet for whom he had been named into a proper proposal. Thus, he spent some time weaving together portions of Horace's odes.

He thought it sounded most elegant when he combined the poet's phrases with his own words. The revised page read:

 _If I could not have you, "involuntary tears [would] glide down my cheek, proving with what lingering flames I am inwardly consumed. I am on fire . . . O thrice and more than thrice happy those, whom an indissoluble connection binds together; and whose love, undivided by impious complainings, does not separate them sooner than the last day!" You are an "illustrious ornament[] of the heavens, oh ever worthy of adoration, and ever adored." I am not worthy to have you become my wife and have you "embrac[e] me with your pliant arms more closely than the lofty oak is clasped by the ivy." "I love my sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking [Jane]" and if you shall marry me "[a]ll the company will fix their dissolving eyes on [you]; but [you], more luxuriant than the wanton ivy, will [never] be separated from [me.]"_

However, it still felt false to use words that he did not feel, might never feel. Horace was left feeling dissatisfied and decided he needed to come up with a different approach.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Pike resolved that the best way she might stop the marriage from happening would be to show how superior of a mistress she was compared to Miss Gardiner. Therefore, although there was hardly time, she summoned her maid to prepare her for dinner with as much splendor as possible.

In Mrs. Pike's opinion two hours was hardly enough time to be properly prepared and for not the first time wished she had true authority over Longbourn to organize all to her liking (which mainly would have involved having ever servant ready to serve her; it was hard to have only one to assist her).

"Oakley!" She yelled loudly even though Oakley was already coming toward her. "I need you at once, there is much to be done to prepare the Mistress of Longbourn. It is a pity there is no time to have my best wig fluxed, but I do not suppose it occurred to you that I would need it done. More is the pity that you have not yet learned to anticipate and satisfy my needs."

"Yes, Madam." Oakley answered.

"Oakley, draw me a bath at once!"

Oakley's eyes widened slightly as she had drawn Mrs. Pike a bath only that morning and she could not see how Madam could have gotten dirty since then. In fact, Mrs. Pike's sole motivation was that she hoped to be just that much fresher than the Gardiners. She dearly hoped that they would seem bedraggled compared to her after having to walk from Meryton from Longbourn.

In insisting on a bath, Mrs. Pike had no care that she was thereby disrupting the footmen from their duties in needing to haul the copper bathtub to her chambers or the kitchen staff in their preparation for dinner as they had to warm her water. She complained when it took some minutes for the water to be warmed and carried to her chamber. Oakley had to make the trek up the servant stairs several times (with only help from a young scullery maid) to fetch enough water and it was a difficult task with a full wooden bucket in each hand (the young scullery maid was so slight that she could only manage to haul one bucket at a time).

Then when all the water was poured, Mrs. Pike complained, "Oakley, for shame, you were so slow, the water is too cold! Hurry up and get to pressing my dress; there is so much to do; you cannot be lazing around!" Mrs. Pike then relaxed in the warmed water (it was not really too cold, just not as hot as she would have liked).

Oakley tried to slow down her hard breathing from her previous exertion and ignore how she was sweating, the ache in her back and her reddened hands. She dearly wished she was the one who was partaking of the bath and glanced a time or two longingly at the water, but her hands were never idle as she prepared Madam's dress. She was fortunate if she got a bath twice a week in a much smaller and more primitive tub after several maids had already used the same water and it had taken on a muddy hue.

Mrs. Pike herself stayed in the water for a very long time and then was annoyed at how late it was by the clock when she deigned to exit the tub. "Oakley, hurry; bring the towel. I am not going to just dry myself." She stood still while Oakley rubbed her down.

Once she was dry, she remained standing naked in all her overly ripe glory. Instead of moving toward where her gown and shift lay, she remained where she was and ordered, "Oakley, hurry up with my shift and gown."

After Oakley dressed her, Mrs. Pike spent some time considering the best jewelry to complement her deep rose-colored gown from the available choices. These included her mother's finest pieces which belonged to the estate which she had co-opted soon after coming to Longbourn. Finally, when she had decided, she had Oakley place a fine ruby necklace around her neck.

Mrs. Pike then ordered, "Oakley, hurry up and prepare my finest wig!"

Fortunately, Oakley knew just which wig Madam wanted, the largest one which she had worn at the assembly. Oakley brought the wig out from her dressing room on an elegant silver platter.

When she set down the platter on a side table and made as if to lift it from its dais of honor and place it on her head, Mrs. Pike objected vociferously, "Just what do you think you are doing, you stupid girl? I need flowers from the garden for my wig; hurry up and fetch them." She then waited impatiently for Oakley to return with appropriate flowers.

As Mrs. Pike did not believe in giving praise for what was expected, she said nothing when Oakley returned sooner than she expected with appropriate roses in several shades of pink which would coordinate well with her dinner gown. She watched silently as Oakley pinned them to her wig. Oakley was well pleased with the silence; it was much superior to hearing Mrs. Pike yelling.

Mrs. Pike sat ramrod straight as Oakley slowly lowered the wig upon her head. Oakley then tucked a few loose bits of Mrs. Pike's hair underneath it.

Oakley was ready to breathe a sigh of relief that Madam's toilet was finally complete, when Mrs. Pike (who had started to stride toward her chamber door, which Oakley had to scramble to reach before her, so she could open it for her, Madam was unwilling to open doors herself), stopped suddenly and exclaimed, "You foolish girl, why have you not anointed me with my cologne?"

Oakley found it as quick as she could and in trying to sprinkle a few drops on an impatient, foot-tapping Mrs. Pike, managed to pour more of it than she intended. It was already a very strong-smelling cologne which always made Oakley want to cough (though of course she had to choke back any coughs as Madam would be upset at any hint of sickness). But Mrs. Pike said nothing as she proceeded to the door which Oakley barely managed to open on time.

Although Oakley did not know it, as Mrs. Pike had aged, much of her sense of smell had vanished and this was the only cologne that she could smell at all. Thus, she did not realize how strong her scent was and that the accidental liberal dash of cologne had thereby obliterated the simple freshness of being newly bathed.

Thus Mrs. Pike finally exited her chambers with only a few minutes to spare. She congratulated herself on the fine showing she was about to make with her lovely dress, luscious jewelry and grand wig.

Determined to keep her large wig perfectly fixed upon her head, it took Mrs. Pike several minutes to slowly walk down the hall and then down the stairs. It was fortunate that she was seated in the parlor, where the Mr. Bennets had been waiting on for a least a half an hour, a few moments before the Gardiners were announced.


	20. Chapter 18

_2nd chapter of two posted today. Finally finished my taxes and am so happy to be through!_

 **Chapter 18**

Mrs. Gardiner had also prepared for battle. Her weapon of choice was not in dressing her daughter ostentatiously, but instead in a more subtle but likely to be more effective display. Only that afternoon, Mrs. Gardiner most skillfully altered a quite ordinary light pink dress of Miss Gardiner's to highlight her daughter's assets. It was not immodest, having a high neckline, but now fit most exactly and was sized to display the curves of her daughter's bosom and her ample hips as accented by her paniers.

But before Jane dressed in the gown, Mrs. Gardiner had her daughter bathe and apply a bit of sweet smelling lotion. While Jane was bathing, Mrs. Gardiner crushed fresh rose petals and sprinkled them over the gown to infuse it with a light floral scent.

Once Jane was finished with the bath as the first Gardiner to bathe that day (it was quite an honor and it well pleased her as normally her mother went first), her mother took a turn, followed by Lydia, then Mr. Gardiner and finally Earnest Edward. He was last both because of his age and because he was usually the dirtiest.

Normally, Mrs. Gardiner would not have displayed Miss Gardiner in such a tight-fitting dress, but now that Jane was engaged her mother was determined to do all she could to keep Mr. Horace enamored with his choice. After Mrs. Gardiner was done with her bath, she worked to fix Jane's hair but nothing she did seemed right. However, when Lydia joined them, she suggested perhaps Jane's hair would be best if styled loosely to allow a few curls to escape. The three of them agreed the style was most becoming as the curls directed attention to Jane's ivory neck.

Mary lent Jane a darker heart-shaped pendant and Lydia supplied the simple thin ribbon to hang it, in just the perfect shade of pink. However, they had trouble deciding exactly where the pendant should lay.

Jane said, "I wonder where Mr. Horace would like to see it best."

Lydia teased, "Perhaps Jane should wear it looped around her breast!"

Mary was quite shocked at her daughter's brashness for a moment, but then it struck her as funny and she began to laugh. There was much merriment as they discussed other possible options.

Finally, they agreed that for an engagement dinner it might be appropriate to hang the pendant just above the hollow between Jane's breasts.

Lydia opined, "In that manner, Mr. Horace's eyes will be drawn to the pendant and what lays beneath."

Fanny blushed as she considered that someday soon, Mr. Bennet would see for himself what had always been hidden from any but her sister and her mother.

Soon Mrs. Gardiner turned the topic of discussion to more serious matters. "Jane, we must discuss again how you are to act while at dinner. Be modest Jane, be demure. Remember the great honor you are being granted. While you are worthy of all you will receive, thank Mr. Horace Bennet for every kindness he shows you and make sure to listen to his every word as if it is the most fascinating thing you have ever heard."

"Yes, mother."

"Remember Jane, a lady is calm and refined. She takes tiny bites and chews with her mouth closed. She dabs her lips."

Jane nodded and Mrs. Bennet noted that Jane was perhaps unconsciously pretending to chew and then dabbed at her lips with her kerchief. Mrs. Bennet allowed herself a slight smile.

"I have spent many years telling you to restrain your impulses with men. This is still true, however a little more leeway is permitted to an engaged women while she still acts with every propriety."

"Leeway? Propriety?"

"You must still be proper, but what is proper is no long as strict, at least in regard to your fiancé. An engaged woman may stand closer to her betrothed than an ordinary maid, she may lean into him a little, may whisper a small comment in his ear. An engaged woman may hold her beloved's arm a bit too long when being escorted in to dinner. An engaged woman may permit and even encourage her betrothed to kiss her hand when she departs. You must not initiate a kiss to anything but your hand, but if Mr. Horace chooses to kiss your cheek, your lips, you may let him do so for a moment before you shyly pull away, give him a small smile and then tell him he must behave."

For the occasion, it had already been arranged that the Mr. Bennets would send their carriage to retrieve the Gardiners, so Miss Gardiner arrived fresh and lovely. During the brief ride, Jane imagined what it would be like to whisper in Mr. Horace's ear, to feel his warm breath on her neck, to perhaps even be kissed. These thoughts brought a becoming blush to her cheeks.

Indeed, Horace spotted their arrival from the window and having finally made his choice on how to propose, he hurried to reach the front of Longbourn so that he might have the pleasure of helping Miss Gardiner down from the carriage.

When Horace helped Jane down, he noted the blush upon her cheeks, the soft pink of her lips, the way her dark curls caressed her neck the way he wished to with his own fingers and how she held his hand just a moment too long. He delighted in each of these things and in the knowledge that she was to be his.

In greeting them inside, Mrs. Pike was everything proper even though she was most irritated that the Gardiners did not have to walk. She stated to Mary Gardiner, who approached her as the rest of her family fanned out toward the Mr. Bennets, "Oh how glad we are that you have been able to join us tonight. My brother informed us that we are celebrating such wonderful news, the joining of our families."

Mrs. Gardiner could barely attend to Mrs. Pike's words as she had to battle not to sneeze at the strong cologne scent. However, being the soul of polite conduct, she managed to make an appropriate reply and regulate her expression. She wondered, however, how long it had been since Mrs. Pike had bathed as she knew many women sought to cover up their own sour smells with cologne and indeed Mary Gardiner could not smell anything but Mrs. Pike's cologne, she desperately hoped that her children would act with decorum and not cough or sneeze.

Mrs. Pike shared many kind pleasantries with Mrs. Gardiner, but she was not fooled. However, she hoped that Mrs. Pike had accepted the inevitable. If Mrs. Pike had resolved to pretend that she had done nothing untoward on the previous evening, who was Mary Gardiner to gainsay her? Mrs. Pike's current behavior was certainly better than her actively plotting to stymie the match.

Fortunately, by the time they sat for dinner, Mrs. Pike's cologne had somewhat dissipated. Dinner itself began uneventfully but there was an almost stifling formality to the whole affair. Lydia and Earnest having been warned to remain quiet, said nothing unless they were directly addressed.

Jane smiled freely and enjoyed tasting the fine offerings of the Bennets' cook but was too overwhelmed to say much. She was busy imagining herself in her rightful place as mistress of this fine estate and dining like this every night.

The most memorable event of the evening occurred while they were sipping their soup. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Pike, her wig (with its many tunnels of curled hair) which had last been used at the assembly had shortly after that time become the nest to a gravid mouse. Oakley in removing the wig from its large box had noticed tiny brown droppings but being in a hurry to serve her demanding mistress, had done nothing to further investigate the matter. She simply removed the wig with care and placed it on its platter before quickly tipping the remaining contents of the box into a waste basket. Then she hurried back with the wig; any delay was sure to incur her mistress's wrath. Oakley never thought to consider whether the wig itself was currently occupied.

There were in fact no adult mice presently in the wig. The mother mouse had been out foraging for food. Being small, naked beings, whose eyes were not yet opened and whose limbs were still too small for ambulation, her offspring had remained where the mother mouse had left them.

However, when Mrs. Pike nodded amiably to a bland comment from Mr. Gardiner, that slight bobbing of her head managed to dislodge one of the occupants of her wig from the location where he slumbered with his littermates. He slid and, plop, fell into her bowl of potato and leek soup.

While the baby mouse was still a tiny being, given the height of the wig his cannonball was quite impressive. It launched a mighty splash which sent soup flying onto the table cloth with a few droplets even reaching the front of Mrs. Pike's dress.

However, not having in fact seen him fall, Mrs. Pike only thought that she had somehow managed to partially upset her bowl. Additionally, as the candlelight was not all that bright, she did not spot him in her soup. No one else had been looking in her direction specifically as he fell, so they were none the wiser, either.

Perhaps all might have been well if Mrs. Pike had stuck to her general pattern of only sipping a few spoonfuls of soup. The baby mouse might have drowned, but no one would be the wiser except perhaps the kitchen scullion. However, this particular soup was rather delicious, having been made with copious amounts of garlic and fine cream, so she continued to consume it.

Mrs. Pike was just bringing perhaps her eighth spoonful to her lips when she noticed that what she had assumed to be a large chunk of potato whilst still in the bowl, was moving. Naturally startled, she dropped her spoon with a clatter, splashing more soup about. She then leaned forward quite a bit to examine her soup more closely.

This tipping of her head managed to dislodge the remaining occupants of her wig and they slid in rapid succession down a chute formed by a large curl and plop-plop-plop-plop-plop, landed one after another in her soup bowl.

Mrs. Pike was not normally a screamer, but her soup bowl was suddenly a mass of squirming she-did-not-know-whats and a whimper and then a high-pitched sound burst forth from her.

"Margaret, whatever is the matter?" Her brother inquired.

Mrs. Pike merely pointed to her bowl with one finger. All the occupants of the table leaned a bit closer to try to discern what was so troubling to Mrs. Pike.

"My soup! In . . . my . . . soup. What . . . what is it, are they?"

"I saw it all," Earnest proudly announced from his place across from Mrs. Pike, "they came out of your wig."

Unperturbed and only fascinated, he reached out and picked up her bowl. It was a rather large breach of etiquette for him to do so, but no one seemed to notice considering everything else.

Everyone watched as Earnest plucked each squirming little thing out of her bowl and laid them on his napkin, counting, "One, two, three, four, five, six . . . six in all, that's an awful lot, but do you think there might be more still in there?" He asked while pointing at her wig.

The thought had obviously not occurred to Mrs. Pike, as suddenly she was tugging off her wig and casting it onto the floor behind her, exposing her roughly shorn and sparse hair (she always wore a wig, but her usual wig was far humbler than her best one).

Mr. Bennet summoned a servant. "Please dispose of these things at once," he said, first pointing to the wriggling pile of baby mice and then the discarded wig on the floor.

Mrs. Pike considered protesting the disposal of her best wig, but at the thought that more vermin might still be present, decided trying to have it cleaned would be more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps she could complain later about him getting rid of it and get him to purchase her an even finer wig.

"If you will excuse me," Mrs. Pike got up with as much dignity as she could muster and fled the dining room.

All of Longbourn could likely hear as she berated poor Patience Oakley with a voice louder than that of a most strident opera singer. "You fool, how could you let mice get into my wig! It is ruined."

There were then some softer murmurs that must have come from Oakley. Whatever she had said must not have satisfied Mrs. Pike as everyone heard a smacking sound.

Horace quietly addressed his father, "Do you suppose Aunt Pike slapped Oakley?"

"I hope she did not," he replied.

Just then Mrs. Pike's voice rang forth once more, "I do not ever want to see your face again. You will have no reference, no pay, you must leave tonight."

All were quiet around the table, wondering if she was finished, but then they heard, "Just where do you think you are going? You must help me change my gown."

Oakley evidently did not stay to do so, though, as through an open door a few of them saw a flash of Oakley fleeing past the dining room, her eyes overcome by tears, with Mrs. Webb the housekeeper just behind her.

Once the soup was cleared and the next course served, talking resumed. No one discussed the incident and a short time later Mrs. Pike rejoined them, evidently having found someone else to dress her.

Mrs. Pike was now wearing another elegant gown, but it was a bit too tight on her and not in a flattering way. She was also wearing a less elegant wig that was still not her everyday wig.

The rest of the engagement dinner was a success. The stiffness and artificial formality which had attended the beginning of the meal was gone, apparently forever broken by the events that came before.

Jane from her seat beside Horace listened to his every word as her mother had instructed. She was cheerful and happy. She delighted in thinking, this shall be my home, these shall be my servants, my husband to be adores me, everyone will envy me.

In speaking to Miss Gardiner, Horace's eyes kept being drawn to the pendant which moved a bit with every breath she took. He noticed and appreciated Janes curves and found himself looking forward to married life. He thought, it will not be hard to fall in love with her.

Later, after a brief separation of the sexes (visiting the necessary was quite important for many after a meal), it came to the time in the evening when Horace knew he must offer a formal proposal.

After several false starts, Horace had finally settled for memorizing Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII and thus, once he was in Jane's company once more, he knelt down beside her, held her hand, looked into her eyes and began to propose by saying, "Dearest Jane, 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" Then he proceeded to recite the whole sonnet to her and added to the final couplet of "see" and "thee" the words, "Dearest Jane, will you marry me?"

Jane, not being well read and forgetting almost everything she read which it was not her original idea to read, believed it an original composition inspired by her beauty and his adoration of her. Consequentially, she was highly pleased and thought herself in love when she said, "Yes."

Thus, upon their engagement being finalized, they were both hopeful and ready to be pleased with married life.


	21. Chapter 19

_You can thank liysyl for this early chapter as she was the fourth reviewer for the previous chapter._

 **Chapter 19**

The following morning, the Mr. Bennets rose early. When they met each other in the dining room for breakfast, Leonard proposed that they go on a ride. While walking towards the stable they discussed what was to be done about Mrs. Pike.

"I cannot believe she slapped Oakley," Horace told his father. "She has done nothing but cater to Aunt Pike's every ridiculous demand with sweet forbearance."

"Yes, it was quite shocking, especially given that our guests heard all. I am only glad that Mrs. Webb managed to keep her from leaving. I think Oakley might make a fine lady's maid for the soon-to-be Mrs. Bennet; anyone who could put up with my sister as long as she did is worth keeping."

"I think that could be a good arrangement," Horace offered. "But what is to be done about Aunt Pike?"

Leonard gave a little sigh and responded, "Before all of this occurred, I had been planning on encouraging Margaret to go home soon but had not planned on forcing her out. I did not want that kind of rift with my sister. I warned her before dinner that she needed to show proper respect and deference to the future Mrs. Bennet, and she did so, but given what happened with Miss Oakley, I really do not want her remaining here."

"I agree. We do not want to lose the respect of all our staff by letting her actions go unchecked. My only concern is whether we can get by without a mistress until I marry."

"I do not see why not," Leonard offered, "I think having no mistress would be an improvement over her, but fortunately we do not have to wait long for a new one."

Horace and Leonard exchanged looks then. Horace's face pinked a bit as he considered how soon he was to be married and in response Leonard smirked.

He then added, "Technically we cannot host events or even a dinner at which women are to be present without a mistress, but I doubt the Gardiners will care overly much and Mrs. Gardiner is sure to be present any time her daughter might come to Longbourn."

"Can you be the one to tell her, Father?" Horace asked. "I know I am the master now, but Aunt Pike still scares me a little."

Leonard snorted, "She can do nothing to you now, but I understand wanting to avoid hearing her caterwauling. I will sort the matter out; she is my sister after all."

Later that day, Leonard came across his sister and asked her to join him on a walk. She agreed immediately, hopeful that now would be a good time to ask him for a new wig.

But before she could ask, he turned to her and said, "Margaret, there is a matter I need to speak to you about."

Still clueless, she thought he might be on the verge of apologizing for disposing of her wig without her permission and, she hoped, would then offer to replace her wig. "What is it Leonard?" She offered him a tentative smile.

Leonard did not return her smile. "While we have enjoyed your visit, it is now time that you go home."

"I do not understand. Have I not shown every respect to Miss Gardiner?"

"You have, recently," he allowed, "but your conduct to her two days ago was reprehensible. I know all about your machinations. Given that and your actions toward Miss Patience Oakley, it is now past time for you to be gone."

Perhaps Mrs. Pike should have bitten her tongue, apologized and seen if there was a way to change his mind, but she did not.

Instead Margaret Pike responded angrily, "Your staff is sadly lacking. You and Horace have been far too indolent and now your son is practically marrying a servant himself. He will regret marrying that little upstart. I can understand him wanting her to warm his bed, but she is not worthy of the Bennet name."

Leonard's eyes widened, which should have been a warning to her, but Mrs. Pike heedlessly continued.

"Someone should have consulted with me! I would have advised that he take her as his peculiar; such would have been more than good enough for the likes of her. I may not have witnessed all that happened in Hertfordshire when the regiment was present, but I have heard about her conduct."

Leonard was quite angry now but as of yet had said nothing because he was so astonished by her words. Mrs. Pike heedless continued, hoping she might convince her brother of her point of view.

"Miss Gardiner is cunning baggage and quite wanton. She was wild for the soldiers and a most determined flirt. She was anxious to catch Lieutenant Brown or Captain Owens and very forward with them and I would not be surprised if she broke her pitcher giving her virtue to one or both. This hurried wedding may be to conceal the results of her actions. If Horace is still determined to marry her, make sure you have someone check the sheets the morning after they wed. You must also count the months, Brother, and evict her if a child makes an appearance before Easter."

Mrs. Pike must have finally seen from Leonard's expression that she had gone too far. He had a look about him like a wild lion just waiting for the cage door to be opened so that he could spring out of it and consume his captors.

Leonard was thinking about the punishment inflicted on the gunner that disparaged his captain's wife. He was flogged severely and left with a raw back.

Leonard would not inflict physical punishment on a woman, but he spent a few moments considering what he would do if he could as he would not let anyone cast aspersions on his future daughter. He knew Mrs. Gardiner to be a matron who carefully guarded her daughter. Whatever else Miss Gardiner might be, he was certain she remained an innocent from the way she blushed when Horace merely held her hand during his proposal.

Leonard finally answered, once he though he could be somewhat measured, though his voice took on an icy tone, "Am I to understand that you are trying to justify your actions and demean the future Mrs. Bennet? She is far more worthy to be mistress here than you will ever be. I had hoped we might salvage something of our relationship, but you have left me no choice. Madam pack your bags. You may pick your destination, but you shall leave on the afternoon post and I shall be quite happy if I never hear from you again."

Margaret stared at her brother with wide eyes, dumbfounded. He usually addressed her as Margaret or Mrs. Pike, so his failure to use her name must mean he was angry indeed.

Mrs. Pike scurried away, knowing that her final gambit was an abject failure and hoping her brother's declaration was mere hyperbole. She hurriedly packed her possessions, angry that so little consideration was being provided to her. Her brother had not even given her a maid to help her pack! At first, she was very angry about this, but then saw how it could benefit her. If Leonard really meant to be through with her, she would save the family jewels from that upstart Miss Gardiner.

When Mrs. Pike was finished, she asked for the carriage driver and did not try to say goodbye to her brother or her nephew. She decided of her options that the least odious among them was to return to her son, Mr. Pike, and her marital home. Her brother and nephew were relieved when she was gone and did not realize the estate jewelry was missing for many days. Leonard's letters demanding its return, sent care of both of her daughter and son, went unanswered. Ultimately the Mr. Bennets decided that if that was the cost of being rid of her, that it was well worth it.


	22. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Meanwhile in Meryton, Mary Gardiner was quite decided that she, Jane and Lydia needed to make many calls to inform their neighbors of Jane's good fortune. Once the word was widespread, Mr. Horace Bennet (and his father as well) would bear a much higher social cost should he decide to jilt Jane. While she did not think that likely, telling many people would discourage any second thoughts Mr. Horace might have.

First, they called upon the Kings. While Mary had considered discussing with her daughter how to be most proper in making such an announcement, she decided for this call at least that she would just let her daughter delight in her triumph.

As soon as were they all seated and about to drink some tea, just waiting for their hostess to take the first sip, Jane exclaimed, "I cannot hold it in any longer. I have the most wonderful news!"

"Yes? Do tell!" Miss King encouraged.

As Mrs. King was used to Miss Gardiner finding almost any minor triumph worthy of accolades (only the past week her most wonderful news was that there was a new color of shoe roses in stock, the previous week it was that a young miss she disliked had come down with a violent cold that might prevent her from attending the assembly), she proceeded to take her first sip of the still quite hot tea without waiting to hear what Miss Gardiner would say.

Depending upon one's point of view, Jane Bennet either had the best or worst timing when she chose that exact moment to exclaim, "I am marrying Horace Bennet! Congratulate me!"

Mary could see the instant that Mrs. King understood the news. She jerked her head back and up, inadvertently away from her slightly tipped tea cup, which without being cushioned by her lip, tilted further. In that moment she managed to pour hot tea into her lap. But as her lips were already pressed tightly together, only a startled moan escaped.

Mrs. King's face contorted in agony. Whether it was from the hot tea settling in her lap or from the news or both, Mary Gardiner could never be certain. However, within a few seconds, Mrs. King seemed to regain her wits as she exclaimed, "Such news! Hester, get me a cloth. I had a bit of a mishap."

When her daughter returned with the cloth and Mrs. King had mopped herself up as much as she was able, she said all the right things which her daughters echoed. However, it was more than clear to Mrs. Gardiner that Mrs. King and her daughters were not at all pleased (Mrs. King just had a tightened forehead, but her daughters each had the pursed face of someone smelling something hopelessly disgusting). However, Jane ignored their expressions and happily carried on telling about the delightful proposal she received.

Mary enjoyed her little triumph over Mrs. King and all the other mothers they informed that day, but all too soon it was getting too late to make morning calls.

Later in the day, Jane had much to do in helping choose materials for her new clothes and making other purchases. They were at the milliners when they came across Edith Lucas and Joanna Goulding.

Jane of course, as she had been doing all in each shop when she came across an acquaintance (and the Gardiners knew almost everyone), told Miss Lucas and Mrs. Goulding, "You must congratulate me. I am shopping for my wedding clothes."

Of course, they said everything proper and then just as Jane had wanted one of them to do, Miss Lucas asked, "Who is your betrothed?"

Jane responded, "Mr. Bennet," and gave a bright triumphant smile.

At Jane's response there was a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Goulding and Miss Lucas became pale.

Mrs. Goulding recovered first, taking a deep breath before inquiring, "Which Mr. Bennet?" Mrs. Gardiner noted that Mrs. Goulding had an odd look on her face.

Joanna was worried it was the elder Mr. Bennet; if the younger it would not surprise her though she was sure her sister would be dismayed. She realized in that moment, that she must have a true interest in the elder Mr. Bennet.

"Why Mr. Horace Bennet, of course." Jane smiled again, happy to have a new audience for her most exciting news. She was not intending to be cruel to Miss Lucas. It had never occurred to her that Miss Lucas thought herself a match for young Mr. Bennet.

At this pronouncement, Mrs. Goulding calmed while Miss Lucas became white indeed and started shaking. Mrs. Goulding had to hold her sister upright while Mary Gardiner obtained a chair from the proprietress. While Mrs. Gardiner acted efficiently to assist the Lucas sisters, she noted to herself their mixed reactions with interest.

Mrs. Goulding had to make excuses for her sister's behavior, "I believe Edith forgot to break her fast this morning."

Edith struggled to remain upright in the chair and said nothing. Eventually she settled a bit and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Gardiner resumed their shopping. When it became clear even after her face recovered some of its color that Edith was too upset to continue shopping, Joanna helped Edith to Joanna's waiting carriage and told the driver to take them to Mr. Lucas's house where Edith lived.

Once home Edith asked, "Am I doomed to always be a spinster? Will little Lottie marry while I still wither way and eventually turn to dust? Should I have married the butcher when he asked?"

Joanna did not know that Edith had received an offer from the butcher, the aptly named, Mr. Ham. He was currently in his sixth decade and the stench of decaying meat clung to him as while he was careful to rinse his hands and launder his work apron, the same could not be said about the rest of his body and clothes which were splattered with blood, small bits of meat and offal. He had survived two wives and was still vigorous and quite strong from his employment. His eldest sons worked in the shop and had wives and half-grown children of their own, so she did not think Edith was referring to either of them.

Mr. Ham had five or six children from his second wife still at home. While the elders should have watched the younger children and kept the house while their father worked, it was well known the younger children could neither read, write or figure, roamed wherever they wished and the house remained squalid.

Joanna gave a little shudder; "I would never have entertained such an offer."

"But you were married," Edith replied, with a pained look on her face. "Though you had no children there is a respectability about you as someone chose you and elevated you. Perhaps I should have accepted Mr. Ham when he offered three years ago."

"In marrying Mr. Ham, I believe you would have been more maid, nurse and governess than wife," Joanna responded. "Is life with our brother William and his wife Charlotte truly so bad that you would trade it for that existence?"

"I suppose not," Edith answered. "However, it is not an easy life to be left behind when your sisters have departed for their marital homes, always trying to not be a burden and assist my brother and his wife so he will not regret having to house and keep me. I am sure there is more that I could have done to encourage and attract a suitor while I was still young. I know you think I am a goose cap, still holding onto my romantic notions, but I still must have a bit of hope not to accept one such as Mr. Ham."

"It is not easy for me either," Joanna confided. "It is odd to be living with Virgil's brother and his sister. When Mr. Goulding marries, I shall be in the way. Having the right to live at Ashworth, to be conveyed by its carriage to and from Meryton, and to run the household based on my marriage, does not mean that it is comfortable to do so."

Joanna further explained, "I would happily give way for Miss Goulding, though she seems content to be spared that responsibility. When Miss Harrington becomes the next Mrs. Goulding, I do not doubt she will wish to have the running of the household and then what will my purpose be?"

"I suppose you have your own burdens to bear," Edith responded. "While it may be too late for me, I shall do my best to make sure that our nieces find husbands. Dorothy's daughters are quite lovely and may make fine matches, but I do not hold the same hope for Lottie as she seems to have gotten the worst features from both of her parents. She is rather mopsey. As Lottie grows older, in addition to helping her learn all the womanly arts I shall instruct her to be practical and secure a comfortable home of her own as I wish someone had done for me."

Although Joanna wished that young Charlotte might find love, that was hardly realistic. Perhaps her sister had the right of it. Respecting and esteeming her future husband was a more appropriate goal, perhaps.


	23. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 _"_ _M" content._

In the three and a half weeks of their engagement, Mary Gardiner made sure Jane was kept busy and from spending too much time with Mr. Horace. It was obvious he was enamored with Jane and Mrs. Gardiner aimed to keep him content with the arrangement as long as could be. When they were in company together, Mrs. Gardiner saw the calf eyes Mr. Horace made at her daughter and Mary was not oblivious to how becoming her daughter was when she giggled and blushed. When they did talk, Mrs. Gardiner did her best to facilitate the conversations between them by preparing her daughter in advance and helping the conversations along with her own contributions.

The first week of Jane's engagement passed away with visiting, shopping and sewing. For the remaining two weeks before her wedding, Jane kept busy with Mrs. Gardiner's lessons on what was required of a mistress of an estate and completing her trousseau. Mrs. Gardiner quizzed Jane frequently but it was soon obvious to her that Jane had trouble retaining much of this knowledge, especially when it came to duties relating to the estate's tenants.

Mrs. Gardiner hoped that once Jane began visiting tenants that she would improve. However, Mrs. Gardiner understood that at least at first, she would need to have an ongoing role in assisting Jane to understand the needs of tenants.

Jane seemed to have a better grasp of the duties of the house and additionally she would have the support of the housekeeper to help her. Mrs. Gardiner knew that while Jane might make errors, they would never be malicious ones. Whether it came to the household or the estate, Jane's errors would likely only be caused by her lack of intelligence and skill.

Jane was also adequate in the still room as this was a skill her mother had worked on with her. Jane found pleasure in concocting pleasing fragrances and understood basic medicinal remedies. There was not a need for Jane to learn more as the Bennets could certainly afford an apothecary.

As Jane and Lydia were growing up, Mrs. Gardiner had told them several times (as her mother Mrs. Place had told her, and likely her grandmother had told her mother) that the key to a man's heart was through his stomach. Jane seemed to have remembered that advice as Jane paid particular attention to, and did enjoy, working out practice menus which incorporated items that Mrs. Gardiner had learned from the Longbourn housekeeper were favorites of Leonard and Horace (and also adding items that Mary Gardiner suspected they would enjoy based on this understanding of their preferences).

As Jane's wedding day approached, Mary prepared to tell Jane the second part of the saying that her mother, Jane Place, had passed onto her and her older sister Catherine when she was suffering from her final illness. Her mother apparently thought it was more important to give her daughters this advice than to leave them ignorant when they were left without a mother's care, though at thirteen and fifteen they were far too young to hear it.

Before Mrs. Place told them, she swore them to secrecy, told them her advice was sacred within the chain of daughters and mothers, and should normally be given shortly before a daughter's wedding day: "I am sure you have heard me say many times that the key to a man's heart is his stomach; while this is true that satisfying his appetite is most important, there is a second key to his heart that many wives neglect. When you marry you must do her best to earn your husband's loyalty and affection through use of this second key, satisfying his carnal hunger."

Mrs. Place's advice did not end there. She explained, "Many husbands feel that an inattentive wife is a proper excuse for straying and if you do not want your husband to spend his earnings in houses of ill repute, on mistresses, on bobbles for merry widows or on his merry-begotten children conceived on the wrong side of the sheets, you must do your best to keep his passions satisfied at home."

At the time Mary had not understood what her mother meant but had never forgotten her words. Mary had wondered then whether she would ever need such advice as even then she aimed to become a housekeeper as this was the highest position to which she could rise in service. She doubted her body would ever feel the touch of a husband, and it would certainly never feel such a touch outside of wedlock.

The night before Mary's wedding, she and her sister Catherine had pondered further their mother's words. They had no other female relatives to assist them, and precious little information had ever been shared with their maiden ears.

Her soon to be mother, Mrs. Gardiner, knowing Mary Place had no older female relatives at hand, had considered whether she should give Miss Place the pre-wedding talk, but was too mortified to do so (especially as it would involve visiting Miss Place in the servant quarters at Purvis Lodge). In the end, Mrs. Gardiner had simply told her husband, "Please tell Edward that he must be patient and gentle with Miss Place; she has no mother to advise her and there is no way of knowing whether she even knows the physical difference between a man and a woman."

Fortunately for Mary, Mr. Gardiner consequently had a talk with his son about how innocent his future wife was likely to be. And with such an opening, the young Mr. Gardiner asked questions he might not have otherwise asked and gained much wisdom from his father.

Edward Gardiner wanted to be a good husband and was indeed most patient with his new wife. The first night of their marriage there was much kissing and touching, but the actual consummation of the marriage did not occur for another two days.

Though Mary had arranged the match, the reality of being wed was far different than she had understood it to be but as time went by, she found she had increasing pleasure with and affection for her husband. It was perhaps a month after Miss Place became Mrs. Gardiner, that Mary was invited to tea with several young married women. She was quite surprised when after the initial exchange of greetings, Mrs. King asked her, "Well, what did you think about your wedding night? We are quite curious to learn whether Mr. Gardiner is a brute or not."

Mary blushed and stammered. She did not ever think she would be asked about such things, but she also deeply wished to be admitted into friendship with these women who were above her prior to her marriage. "Just fine," she finally said.

"Oh, you do not have to be shy with us, we have heard it all before," said another woman. "I had scarcely crossed the threshold of my new bedroom, when my husband told me to lay down on the bed, hoisted up my skirts and impaled me with his sword. It did certainly seem to me to be a sword at that time, cutting and burning. He was done with his business so quickly I did not really have much time to even understand what had occurred, but afterwards he seemed most pleased with himself, told me he was most glad I was indeed a virtuous woman."

Another woman contributed, "My John was the opposite. He had no idea what to do or where it was supposed to go. Thank goodness my mother had at least made that much clear to me. But once we got it in the right place, he was as happy to rut as any barnyard animal. The only problem was that he went on and on. Of course, I felt like pushing him off, but finally I remembered to follow my mother's advice. I wrapped my legs around him, squeezed my inner muscles and then almost immediately I felt him convulse and knew it was almost over."

"So tell us, Mrs. Gardiner, what happened when you were first alone?"

All of the women's eyes were on Mary. "He, he kissed me. And then he touched me."

When she did not say anything further, another woman said, "Oh, between your legs? Some men do that to prepare their wives; they are the lucky ones."

"No," said Mary, feeling that somehow the honor of her husband was at stake. "He was slow about everything, seemed to want to make me feel good and I did." She glossed over the delay between that first kiss and the consummation on another day and added, "besides that first moment when he was inside, I mostly liked it."

Mrs. King told her, "I am glad for you." However, the other women seemed disappointed and it was not long before the gathering broke up. Of all the women Mary had talked to on that day, only Mrs. King became her friend.

Naturally, this was not the only time that the subject of intimate relations arose in a group of married women when Mary was present. Mary found herself invited as part of a group that seemed to want to interview newly married women about what they had experienced, but after a time or two began to decline such invitations, finding the whole undertaking simply too mortifying for the newly initiated bride.

Over the years Mary also learned many other things from older married women (usually in an intimate one-on-one talk). Often these wives were complaining about their husbands' desires that they did not want to satisfy but acceded to when necessary.

These women might have been surprised by the use Mary put to the information they gave her. While she commiserated with them about all the ways their husbands imposed on them, she had not forgotten her mother's advice of the necessity of satisfying her husband's carnal hunger.

From their comments, Mary began to get ideas of other way she might delight her husband and freely offered to attempt them or allow them to be done to her. Mary believed it was her marital duty to do so as her body belonged to her husband. He did not want to do all these things but did enjoy some of them and Mary was confident that he was happy to keep his passions within the confines of their marriage as she made sure she satisfied all the desires he might have for his arbor vitae. She never wanted him to take a left-handed wife or visit a nunnery.

Edward, had he been asked, would have said he was most satisfied in his marriage, but valued having his wife as a dear companion, who was wise and worked hard to raise their daughters and maintain their household, rather than simply as a lover.

Knowing the limitations of what her daughter had to offer Horace as mistress of the estate, Mrs. Gardiner determined that she would need to go far beyond what her mother had taught her and give Jane detailed instructions on what she could do to please her husband in their chambers. She hoped to make it a less mortifying experience for her than what some of the new brides seemed to experience, though truly she had no control over what Horace might do.

Mary Gardiner was completely certain that her daughter Jane was a true innocent as Mary had made very sure to guard her daughter's virtue. Jane was never allowed out alone and at any outings or social events where men would be present, she was typically in eyesight of her mother or chaperoned by another suitable matron. Even now with Jane engaged, Mrs. Gardiner did not leave her alone with Horace Bennet or his father.

This was part of the reason that her younger daughter Lydia was not allowed out yet, as Mrs. Gardiner knew she could not effectively watch both of her daughters in these types of settings. When the Gardiners were out at a social gathering, they always took Lydia to stay with Mary's sister, Catherine. Catherine was the housekeeper at Netherfield Park and her employers were willing to let Lydia tail her aunt and stay with her for the night.

At the assemblies Mrs. Gardiner refrained from dancing so she could make sure her daughter was always watched. There would be no kissing in a dark corner or other improprieties; of this Mrs. Gardiner made sure, understanding that Jane might innocently let a man wholly unconnected with her go too far. As for flirting, there was nothing much her mother could do about that except lecture Jane and threaten time away from society, which did tamp down on the extent of it.

Thus, when Mary Gardiner began to have a series of talks with Jane starting a week before her wedding day, she knew that her daughter knew practically nothing and would require much education. Mary swore Jane to secrecy explaining, "I am about to tell you something that can never be spoken of with anyone unmarried, save that you may pass on this knowledge to your own daughters someday, shortly before their marriages. Do I have your word that you will never sully an unmarried woman who is unrelated to you with such knowledge?"

"I promise, Mama!" Jane quickly agreed, her eyes wide. "Are you to teach me about my wedding night?"

Mary nodded. "While you have heard me say that the key to a man's heart is his stomach, there is a much more important second key to his heart. It has a physical form and is made for physical expression. Much like eating is enjoyable, using this key is enjoyable to a man."

Seeing Jane confusion, Mary was quick to explain, "This key to his heart is his carnal hunger, which takes a physical form in that part of him which makes him a male."

As Jane still looked confused, Mary explained further, "Surely, Jane, you have seen that thing which hangs between the back legs of male animals."

"Yes, Mama, but what does that have to do with men?"

"Jane, men are a kind of male animal, too."

"They are?" The look on Jane's face made it seem as if she had never considered the possibility.

"What do you think that bulge is in their breeches, Jane?"

"Is it not part of the breeches themselves?"

Mary laughed, she could not help but do so.

Jane looked quite crossly at her mother. "Well you never told me anything different."

"But Jane, do you not remember helping to change your brother's diapers?"

"Yes, but . . . oh I do not know mother, I guess I never really thought about it."

"Well that thing, Jane, has many names. Men call them their yards, members, swords, pegos and other names of that sort (there are also many names for the two things that hang behind it). When a man is excited by a woman, his yard will get long and hard and point like this." Mary demonstrated with her finger. "Of course, a man's member is much larger than this, is more like a sausage in length and girth. Now surely, Jane, you are more familiar with how your own body works and what is contained between your legs."

"Yes Mama," Jane told her. "I have the place from which my water flows, the place from which my blood flows and the place from which my night soil gets pushed out."

"Yes, that is right Jane. Do you know where your husband's yard will go?"

"Go, where would it go?" Jane was very confused once again. She was not used to thinking so hard. "It stays attached to him, does not it?"

"Oh Jane," Mary gave a little frustrated sigh and then paused while she reminded herself to be patient, "what I mean to say is, do you understand where your husband is going to want to place his yard, what part of your body it will go into on your wedding night?"

Jane's brow wrinkled. She thought very hard. She could not think of any place where something as big as a sausage might fit, except . . . "Is it . . . into my mouth?" she guessed.

Mary did not sigh and decided to give her daughter partial credit for that answer, "Perhaps, but likely not on the first occasion of marital intimacies. But that is a good thought on your part, many husbands like such things. Can you think of any place else? I will give you a hint, it relates to making a baby. What part of you did I tell you was involved in making a baby?"

"The place where my blood comes out?" Jane guessed, not at all certain she was right.

However, she was rewarded by a bright smile from Mary (who was finally thinking, thank goodness she was able to figure that out, I was afraid I waited too long in only giving myself a week to go over the most important things) and a, "Well done, Jane."

As this story cannot be merely about Mary and Jane's extensive, multi-night talk, it will suffice to say that on that during that first talk, Mary went on to familiarize her daughter with all the relevant body male and female body parts and the basic act. Mary determined that it made the most sense for her to make drawings to illustrate various points. She started by diagramming the male and female body parts, explaining how they worked together and then using her hands to demonstrate the motions involved in penetration.

Jane was wide-eyed and giggly but seemed very interested in how the marital act worked and asked many questions. Mrs. Gardiner did the best to conceal her surprise at some of them. It was only right that her daughter was ignorant of these matters.

To her first point about the "key," she told Jane, "Another way to think about Mr. Horace's yard is to think about it like it is a key. Your passage is like a lock made to fit Mr. Horace's key (of course nothing turns), but they may not fit all that well together at first. However, given time much delight can be had for both of you in those parts of yourselves coming together. Do not worry overly much if he wants to do that within seconds of you being alone together. Do not worry if it hurts at first. These things are normal. Some men are like that and it does not mean that it will always be that way. Likely it will get better as time goes by and he understands that you are not going anywhere and will always be available to him."

Mary went several steps further over the next several nights by both drawing and describing many of the acts that could take place between a husband and wife that would not lead to children. Jane blushed quite a bit when given such explicit information and most mortifyingly to her mother frequently asked, "Do you do that with Papa? Does he like it?"

Each time Mary patiently said something to the effect of, "I have told you before that I am not going to answer that question. A young woman should not think about how her parents engage in the marital act. I am trying to give you as much information as possible, that I have gleaned over many years from many women."

As Mary Gardiner instructed Jane, she made sure to emphasize to Jane, "Likely, your husband will not anticipate that you know anything more about the marital bed than what I told you that first night. Let him believe that as it would never do for a man to think that you know more than he does. But gradually as your marriage goes on, you might shyly suggest anything that you think you might like to do for him, or what he could do for you. It would not do to make any suggestions in the first few weeks of your marriage, as you do not want your husband to think you are not a true innocent. Also, your body will need time to adjust to its new duties."

Mary suggested that instead it would be appropriate for Jane to wait weeks or months after she became Mrs. Bennet, when she felt most confident, to tell her husband (she spoke the exact words Jane could use, using a false high voice in an humorous imitation of Jane's voice), "Oh Horace, how I long to please you. I delight in being your wife and wish to give you as much pleasure as possible, do you suppose you would like it if I . . . ." Switching to her normal voice, Mary said, "and then you can suggest something I have told you about."

Mary then said, "Now you try, Jane."

Jane giggled and then said, "Oh my dear Mr. Bennet, how I long to please you. I love being your Mrs. Bennet, would you like me to suck on your sugar stick?"

Mary Gardiner began coughing as she tried to suppress her laugh, a laugh formed as it was so odd to hear such words coming from her daughter's lips.

At the end of each session the drawings Mary made were burned in the fire. She could not imagine how mortifying it would be for anyone else to see them.

The last night Mary talked with Jane about such matters was the evening before Jane's wedding day. After the final set of drawings was burned, Mary gave Jane one final piece of advice, "If Mr. Horace seems short-tempered, do not forget that granting appropriate satisfaction to his member might do much to improve his mood. There is a reason that some call it the matrimonial peace-maker."

Later that night as Jane lay in her bed beside her slumbering sister, she despaired of getting any sleep herself. Every time she closed her eyes she would see one or another of her mother's drawings before her. However, unlike before, the drawings merged with her mental image of Horace Bennet (though naturally the parts of him she had not seen were quite fuzzy or made of line drawings). Jane found herself lightly caressing her own body and imagining what it might feel to have Horace do likewise. She found that certain touches she gave to herself made her tingle inside and grow wet in the place where Horace's key was to go. Although Jane did not discover how to give herself the ultimate delight her mother had hinted was possible, she found herself greatly looking forward to trying out the goat's jig, seeing Horace's sugar stick and learning all the marital bed had to offer.


	24. Chapter 22

Remember, four reviews for Chapter 22 will get you Chapter 23 sooner than my regular Thursday posting.

 **Chapter 22**

 _"_ _M" content._

Leonard, recalling his own ignorance in knowing how to please Elizabeth when they were first married, considered whether he should have a talk with his son about the matter. It was not something that men truly talked about, instead they simply bragged about their exploits.

When Leonard was in the navy, between stops in ports men reduced to satisfying their own urges with their hands (or worse with the live poultry aboard as he guessed must be the origin of the vulgar nickname for the man who tended them), entertained each other by telling the most outrageous of stories of the carnal pleasures they had received. While married men hesitated to share more than vague hints about their marital interactions, they and their single compatriots were not so circumspect when it came to paid pleasures. On long boring nights, it was not uncommon for a mate to share every salacious detail of a visit a to a woman of easy virtue, especially any praise she offered for his performance.

Leonard had to wonder whether such women truly enjoyed one man's performance among all the others they partook of in a particular day or simply said to every man who visited what was needed to get paid and receive a return visit if he lingered in port. Additionally, a Miss Laycock was expected to please a Corinthian rather than receive any pleasure herself. She was seen as a mere receptacle, a bottomless pit for his pleasure.

Leonard himself had only indulged twice at two different ports. The first woman had beckoned him into her squalid room (which contained little more than a stained and sagging bed), closed the door and then proceeded to raise her skirts. She told him, "I am waiting for you to fill me." Consequentially, he had gotten right to it and been dutifully praised and dutifully escorted out. He only thought to think after the fact that he had not even seen her breasts or gotten much of a look at the rest of her anatomy.

The second time, having considered all the stories he had been told, he asked her to undress and took the time to familiarize himself with the plains of her body and to see what she truly looked like between her legs. Not being certain whether what he was seeing was normal or a sign of disease, he quickly opted to ask her to pleasure him with her mouth.

She did not ask him to undress, merely gestured for him to take a seat in her ripped chair, unbuttoned his fall and kneeling before him went at it with such vigor that his second visit was even shorter. During neither visit had he thought to wonder what she might desire.

Thus, when faced with what was expected of a husband towards his innocent wife, Leonard knew not how best to proceed. Leonard could not help but think he was not the only one who began fumbling and uncertain when it came to the marital bed; he was only grateful that his wife eventually managed things better than he had.

He expected that his son while at Cambridge had more than a few opportunities to experience rantum scantum, yet knowing what a bookish man Horace was, thought it more likely that he had read about joining giblets rather than experienced it for himself. He doubted Horace had any or much personal experience to aid him in bedding his innocent wife.

What finally decided Leonard on whether to talk with his son was that he wanted him to be happy in the marriage that he felt responsible for arranging. Thus, on the night before Horace's wedding day, Leonard asked if he might privately speak with Horace in the room that was now his son's domain as the master of Longbourn and coming to be known as his book room.

Horace was curious, but certainly not anticipating the topic of conversation that Leonard had in mind. He waited a long time for Leonard to begin.

Leonard, simply seeking a way to start, finally happened upon, "Horace, would you like to know how to please a wife?"

Horace drew his brows together in an exaggerated expression of confusion. "You think Miss Gardiner will not be pleased with all the estate has to offer? Coming from her more humble origins, and given the generous amount I am settling on her as pin money, you think will not be enough to please her? I will do whatever I can to make her happy."

"No, Horace." Leonard sighed and briefly considered fleeing while he still could. Who knew it would be so difficult to talk to his son even though he knew he should?

"In your chambers."

Again, Horace seemed confused. "We redecorated as Mrs. Wells suggested and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Gardiner approved all the selections. You think it is still not good enough for her? I knew we should have ordered the window dressings made of the better material, but Mrs. Gardiner was sure that the other would be more durable and block out the light more effectively."

"No Horace." Leonard drew one hand across his brow as he closed his eyes.

Did Horace genuinely not understand what topic he was trying to raise, or was he doing his best to avoid any such discussion? Leonard really could not tell.

"Let me speak plainly," Leonard said, while he avoided looking at his son and dutifully studied the curtains. "Do you know how to best please your wife in marital congress on your wedding night?"

After he finished his question, Leonard's eyes skirted around Horace's form and settled on his own lap. So great was his embarrassment, at both his own question and the lack of a response from Horace that Leonard only faintly perceived some sort of jerky movement from his son with his peripheral vision. Gradually, he raised his eyes up, uncertain of what he would see and was most amazed by the sight before him.

Horace was shaking with stifled laughter, his cheeks reddened and rounded with mirth, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his lips tightly pressed together to keep any sound from escaping. When he saw that his father was finally spying him, he cast back his head and a mighty stream of laughter escaped.

Horace laughed and laughed, until tears rolled down his chin. He tried to calm his laughter, but one look at his father's solemn visage made his mirth bubble up again. The more Horace laughed, the sterner and more serious his father's face became.

When Horace finally calmed himself enough that only an occasional chuckle burst forth, Leonard with his arms folded across himself opined, "It is no laughing matter."

Horace could not help but once again chuckle, chortle and guffaw. Finally, when he was able to calm himself a bit, he tried to explain, "The look on your face, when I kept purposefully misunderstanding you! Oh Father, I did not intend to do it, but how could I help myself? I had a bet with myself about how long it would take you to understand I was funning you, but I never dreamed that three times you would seek to correct me, oh and your look when you saw that I was laughing . . . ."

Leonard's face reddened once he finally understood he had been the butt of a joke. He had thought that Horace's laughter was simply a sign of how uncomfortable he was having this discussion, once he finally understood what it was about. Seeing Leonard's chagrin, once again laughter overcame Horace.

It took perhaps twenty minutes before Horace was adequately calm and Leonard's agitation had lessened sufficiently before the Bennet men began to have a frank conversation. Horace breeched the subject, saying, "I am sorry for earlier. Do you have some advice to give me?"

Leonard was still terribly embarrassed but proceeded to haltingly explain that he had not really had much useful information from his time in the navy to know how to go about pleasing his innocent new wife. He haltingly told Horace, the words coming out in dribbled and drabbles, "Looking back upon it, what I most wished that I had known that first night was that while a wife is usually prepared by her mother to submit to her husband's desires, that I should have thought to kiss and caress her, to proceed more slowly, to make her desire me as well. It took me a long time to learn that the more pleasure she has in the activity, the more enjoyable it is for me as well."

"That's it?" Horace asked, amazed that this was the momentous advice his father had stammered through giving. "That is what all your many years of experience as a married man, to my mother (who I know you dearly loved) taught you? Why everyone knows that, even the most common of louts. Have you no more specific advice about what might be pleasing to a wife? No thoughts on whether after thoroughly drinking from her lips that you should move on to cover her body with light kisses or to instead caress it with your hands? No thoughts on whether the first time you drink from her dairy you should tell her what you are about to do or simply do it? No insights into whether it is better to use your hands or your mouth upon her button of pleasure? No opinion on whether you should first use your fingers to penetrate and stretch her passage or just proceed without doing so if she feels wet and ready?"

Leonard remained silent. As Horace talked on and on, Leonard's face which at first was only a light pinkish hue, gradually got redder and redder. His face started to feel hot, and he began to sweat. He felt he was thoroughly being school on the matter and that he deserved it.

Horace had finally moved on from debating with himself the various kisses, touches and caresses and the order in which they might be most apt, to ask, "What about different positions? Surely you were not simply always on top, with Mother below?" Without pausing to let Leonard answer, Horace added (mostly to himself, he did not expect any longer to hear an answer of any sense from his father), "I imagine most maidens are most comfortable if at first it is their husband above them as that is what they have been taught to expect, but yet might a new wife prefer being placed upon her husband so that she might control the pace and decide what she is most ready for? But I suppose that would involve a more knowledgeable maiden and that is almost an oxymoron."

"Horace . . ." Leonard bid his son stop his monologue by saying his name, knowing that this was the moment when he had something to contribute. "It is most pleasant to have one's wife climb upon you and make you wait, to direct your actions."

Horace paused and considered his father for a moment. "Finally, we are getting somewhere. What can you tell me about that, leaving off, of course, details of my mother which I would not wish to know."

"Well . . . if a man is bid to lie still, and the woman is atop, she can direct all of his actions. Her breasts are most pendulous when hanging down toward him and the drinking is most pleasant. His hands are free to caress her backside, her frontside, and her notch, whereas when he is aloft in needing them to hold himself up, at best only one hand may be free. It feels quite good to be told to restrain oneself, to let her rub herself against him, for him to feel her wetness but wait until she is ready to admit him. She can be more upright and does not always need to support herself with her hands."

Horace was finally paying attention and Leonard felt he had finally been redeemed. Before Leonard made such a contribution, he would have never dreamed of sharing something so intimate with his son or with anyone as talking about it with other men would have cheapened the experience, somehow. And yet, as the words tumbled freely from his lips, he did not regret them; it did not seem wrong to try to inform his son.

Leonard added, "Your mother for all her innocence, and what can have hardly been the best experience with me during the beginning of our marriage, was the one who finally helped me understand what she needed, and she did it by taking all control from me. Having heard all your knowledge, I now realize there was so much more I could have done to give her pleasure. Tell me Horace, how did you learn about all of this?"

Horace pinked a bit then, "We had a sort of class at Cambridge, not an official class, mind you, but something arranged by a professor for certain students he believed would take the matter seriously and be respectful about it, a sort of lecture with demonstratives. But first I must explain there was a somewhat famous mistress who had gone from pleasuring a well-known member of parliament to running a nunnery perhaps thirty years ago. She had trained all the nuns in various techniques of pleasure, but apparently was hearing from the women she employed that most men wanted to get right to it and they never got to show them much of their repertoire.

"The abbess wanted her facility to stand out from the others, for it to gain a preeminent reputation as a place where only the most well-to-do would visit by making it an experience they would not forget, that they would pay top dollar for. She wanted her women to entertain fewer men but get paid more for a longer time of entertainment, but she was having trouble getting men to understand why they might prefer this, and making her house stand out from the rest.

"She hit upon an idea of how to establish herself. She decided she would have an exhibition of a sort, to show the men all they might experience. She rented a rundown theatre for the purpose, had her women all up on the stage (in dressing gowns) and lucky men (or perhaps not so lucky men) from the audience would be selected for demonstrations."

Leonard let himself get absorbed in Horace's story, imagined it before him, with Leonard as an eager participant as Horace narrated: A buxom young lass he remembered one of the crew claiming for a night while the ship was in port, exposed her breasts as a stern yet luscious madam instructed, "On Sally, show me your best technique for kissing her breasts." Leonard then did his best to comply, both kissing and caressing them."

Everyone watched as Sally gave a breathy moan. He was then instructed to step away from the madam as first she and then Sally rated his performance. "Not bad, not bad, but you could improve if you gave attention to her other bubby to prepare it for its turn. Now Sally, what did you think?"

"He began too gently. That might be a good idea if taking his wife to his bed for the first time, but I would have liked it more if it seemed like he was almost trying to devour me."

"All right, now Amy, demonstrate on Sally how one can drive a woman wild with passion merely by taking suck." While Leonard and the other men watched, the abbess instructed, "Now imagine what damage Amy could do to any of you."

Leonard was pulled out of this little fantasy by Horace's next words. "After perhaps the first twenty minutes of this demonstration, the men in the audience nearly rioted, so eager they were to get at the women who could do all these things. The women, despite all the men in their employ who were to safeguard them, barely escaped with their lives, but from that day on her nunnery was a wild success.

"It was one of these young women, who upon the death of the abbess, decided she wanted to enter into a different line of business. She began to arrange for limited engagements at which she (with help from two of the other young nuns) would discuss and demonstrate what she thought all men should know. However, sadly, there was no longer any audience participation in the demonstrative part. I was most fortunate to be admitted to two of her sessions as hosted by my history professor. It cost dearly. I paid almost all of my spending money for nearly six months and was only able to afford two, two-hour sessions.

"The professor justified the endeavor to himself by requiring the nuns to first discuss with us all manner of information they had on the diseases that could harm nuns and the men who visited them and why it would be most prudent not to visit such establishments. But then they got to teaching us all they had learned over the years so that we might have pleasure with our future wives or mistresses and give pleasure in return. It was well worth it to suffer through hearing their horrors to learn what we could do and what was possible."

Leonard responded, "Well then perhaps if I ever marry again, I should consult with you about my duties. I hope they explained that with everything so new to a bride, the man must proceed most slowly and judiciously."

"They did," Horace offered. "I am hoping, though, that Miss Gardiner shall prove a quick study and that I will be able to execute well on all I have learned."


	25. Chapter 23

_Thank you Guest for being the fourth reviewer for this chapter. Somehow I missed seeing your review until this morning, so I apologize for the delay in posting this next chapter._

 **Chapter 23**

 _"M" chapter but not too explicit._

Jane made a beautiful bride and all in attendance could understand why Horace was marrying her. While her gown was suitably modest, it showcased all her womanly curves. The bubbies upon her chest needed no enhancement and her hips only required a slight padding from paniers. The curls that emerged from her cap were artfully piled and her dark eyes and hair contrasted beautifully with her porcelain skin. Not only did she look lovely, but her face bore a subtle, beatific smile.

Horace stumbled over his vows because he was mesmerized by Jane and thinking about putting into practice all that he had learned while at Cambridge from his unorthodox teachers. His fantasies about now having free rein to explore his wife's body were most distracting, but if anyone noticed his errors, they were too polite to mention them, and Horace forgot about them himself almost immediately.

The wedding breakfast was held at Longbourn. While it was cooked by Longbourn's cook, Mrs. Gardiner and Jane had arranged the menu to please both bride and groom. However, neither Horace nor Jane was able to eat more than a few bites as they were too busy being congratulated and receiving much attention. Jane enjoyed every moment of her glory and finally being referred to as Mrs. Bennet felt wonderful. For her this time with their guests passed away all too soon.

Once the guests had left and the servants finished clearing the food, Jane found herself alone with Horace. He looked at her dreamily and said simply, "My dear wife, I have waited for this day."

"I as well," Jane added. She suddenly found herself at a loss and knew not what to say next. She had never been alone with the man who was now her husband.

Her mother had always been present, or occasionally her aunt. Too, it was unusual for the elder Mr. Bennet to not be nearby and often her father, sister and brother. Usually her mother told her the conversation topics she planned to bring up and had Jane rehearse her answers in advance. While before there was always the wedding preparations to discuss, these had been concluded.

Grasping, Jane added, "Everything was lovely today. Your staff did well."

"They are your staff, too, now, . . . Mrs. Bennet . . . Jane." He tried out her new appellations, realizing he had never addressed her by her first name.

Again, there was awkward silence. Jane looked down at her gloved hands in her lap and blushed. She imagined removing her gloves in front of her husband and wondered what he would think when he saw the short fingernails she had bitten to the quick. She realized that although she had touched her new father with her bare hand that she had never touched her fiancé and now husband without the barrier of gloves, had done no more than grasp his arm or hand.

"Should I call you Mr. Bennet still, or Horace?" Jane asked, looking at him anxiously. It was strange, all that had long been forbidden, things secret and mysterious, many of which she had only recently learned about, were now acceptable because of the bonds of holy matrimony. Jane felt uncomfortable and longed to gnaw on her nails.

"Either, though the first might be confusing as it is also what my father is called. And was I too presumptuous to call you Jane?" He looked so intently into her eyes, with a certain look he had before, but never this intensely.

"You are my husband," she answered, "you have every right to call me anything you wish, but both Mrs. Bennet and Jane are fine."

There was a further awkward silence. Jane tried to think of a word for the way he was looking at her. It was almost, hungry, she decided. This put to mind her mother's advice.

"Should you like to see your new room?" Horace asked her. "I believe all your possessions have been placed there."

Nervously, Jane nodded. She let him escort her and noticed that her husband's pace kept increasing. He was certainly stirring his stumps and seemed most eager to get her there. When they stood outside the room that must be hers, he opened the door, watched her walk inside and then paused awkwardly on the threshold. He wanted to kiss her as the opening move to begin to engage in a series of delightful actions, but having never done any of them before, he held back. He wondered why he had not even tried to kiss her after they married. He was not sure how to proceed or whether he should enter her room or not. As it was early afternoon and not time for bed, would it be too presumptuous to think they might get to the main event right now?

"Horace," said Jane, "you are making me nervous, please come inside. My mother told me many things, but I have not yet even had my first kiss."

Horace knew an invitation when he heard one. He stepped into the room and pulled Jane toward him with one arm while closing the door with the other.

He leaned his face into her, gently putting a hand on each side of her face and tilting his own so their faces could meet. This first kiss was sweet, but it was soon followed by more demanding kisses that left Jane gasping. She felt desire shoot through her belly and center on her most private of places. She felt a longing deeper than that she had felt in touching herself the night before.

Horace found his baser man wanting to have her then and there, but instead pulled back a little and reminded himself how those women and his father had advised him to take things slow. He wondered, not for the first time, how much Jane might know about what was to take place. He hoped she was not too ignorant as he did not wish to scare her from what should be a joyous joining.

When Horace pulled back, Jane felt a bit of frustration that they could not just get right to that which she had so much curiosity about. She was glad that it appeared her husband was not going to be a brute, but she wished they might divest their clothes right then, touch each other and make the other feel good. She did not want her new husband to think she was a wanton who had been too free with her favors, yet she greatly desired to touch him, to feel his bare skin.

"Horace," she gasped out, "should we not at least remove our gloves?"

Horace pulled his gloves off at once carelessly flung them on the ground. When Jane struggled with removing her gloves (they were fashionably tight), he pulled them off for her from where the rested on her arms, inverting them in the process with no care at how hard it would later be to right them (rather than tugging at them from the fingertips as Jane had been doing).

If Horace was distressed by Jane's bitten nails, he showed no sign, holding her bare hands in his and kissing her palms and then sucking lightly on the tips her fingers, imagining what it would be like to suck on her nipples. He continued to hold and rub her bare hands as he leaned forward to place small kisses on her neck. He made sure to hold the lower half of his body well away from her as he did not want to scare her with how his lower anatomy was expanding and he also had a fear (hopefully baseless as he had taken care of himself that morning to lessen his urgency now, though his yard and babbles seemed not to remember for how they were reacting) that he might shoot off before occupying his pretty wife.

Horace was well pleased with how Jane seemed to be enjoying his attentions and that she had been forward enough to suggest they remove their gloves. He wondered if she might soon be amenable to removing further clothing. However, he dared not assume it. Gloves were one thing as they were not worn all the time . . .

Jane enjoyed the kisses to her neck and how the sensation seemed to strengthen the desire she felt. However, she was a bit frustrated that he was holding her hands, stopping her from being able to run them through his hair golden hair and loosen his cravat. Thus, almost without any volition she asked, "Horace, may I untie your cravat? It is most unfair that you can kiss my neck and I cannot kiss yours."

"Dear wife, you may have anything you like." He gave each of her hands a final kiss before releasing them and then felt his neck cloth pressed tighter again his neck as she struggled with the knot. "Let me," he offered, untying it much quicker than she could, but leaving it looped about his neck as he desired for her to remove it.

She did, running her fingertips along his neck in a manner that felt most sensual to the both of them. After she flung the cloth away, she pulled him toward her so that she could kiss his neck. It felt most delightful so him to feel her lips against him. It made him think about where else her lips might go.

Jane for her part was almost overcome with desire in feeling his bare skin beneath her lips, tasting a slight saltiness from his sweat and smelling his manly scent. The further back on his neck she kissed, the closer she pulled him to her. When he was finally in her arms and she felt his hardness pressed against her, another wave of desire flowed through her.

Horace was surprised to find himself pulled against her, to have his member touching her through their respective clothing. He enfolded her in his arms, smelling her sweet hair and an essence that must be woman. He forced himself to be respectful, only letting his hands caress her back. Oh, how he longed to caress lower, but he would wait, he would go slow.

"Horace, I . . ." Jane was embarrassed to ask for what she wanted. She knew it could never be lady-like for a new bride to ask her husband to undress himself and take her clothes off as well.

"What is it Jane?" He again drew back a little, concerned that he was going too fast and scaring her. "Is it too much, too soon?"

He dearly hoped that she might yet let him proceed with claiming her as his own.

"I . . . my mother said . . . that is, she told me . . . "

"I wish you to enjoy all, but for you to be comfortable. I know this is all new."

"My mother said I should just let you do what you wished to do."

Horace gave a little sigh; he must have been wrong about Jane enjoying herself; his own desire must have been overshadowing how he perceived her reactions. He felt horrible that he had just been thinking about what he wanted. Although he was as innocent as she, he was the one who had the lion's share of knowledge. From what she had just said, it seemed she was very ignorant indeed. He hoped Jane at least knew what he was supposed to want to do.

"I do not want to do anything that you do not also wish to do," he told her. "I want us to experience joy together in being together. I am sorry if I have done too much, too soon."

"That is not it, Horace. She told me a lot of things but told me I am not to speak of them with you, that you might think such knowledge would reflect badly on me. I do not wish for you to not respect me or to think I am too forward. Yet, I am eager to try those things that can take place between a husband and a wife."

Horace could not believe what he was hearing. But he doubted that Jane could know very much. He wished to reassure her, however. "I promise not to think less of you for any knowledge you have. It is well if you know what to expect."

"Not just what to expect, Horace, but things we might try later. Things I would like to try now." Her face was stained red with her blush but perhaps also desire.

"What would you like, my dear?" Horace dearly hoped she, too, wanted to let him divest her of her clothes.

"It is embarrassing to say."

He leaned closer to her, "Then whisper it in my ear."

"Horace," the slight tickle of her breath against his ear made him stiffen further, "I want to see all of you, to run my hands along your body, to have you do likewise and perhaps . . ." her voice got even softer as she told him about her other desires.

Horace was almost overcome. Never had he imagined that his new wife might be as eager to experience all manner of things he had long fantasized about as he. If his eagerness at that moment to proceed overcame his good sense and resulted in the ripping of both of their clothes as he could not make his fingers be nimble enough to undo buttons, his new wife did not seem to mind based on how she, too, flew at him. In the end, they were both well pleased.

They spent the rest of the day and night together in her chambers. Neither noticed any hunger, but what they could gain from the other.

While Jane noticed a soreness the following day, she also felt as if all of her body had been awakened to desire and finally every bit of her had a different purpose from what she had ever known before. She knew all would be well with her marriage if they could but only continue to give each other such joy.

Horace for his part was sore as well, but most happy with his marriage. As he admired his wife's curves (she seemed to have no modesty and for this he was most grateful), he silently blessed the unfortunate women who had taught him so much, his new wife's mother for giving her daughter such a good education, and his father for arranging the match.


	26. Chapter 24

_This is the calm before the storm which is the first real test to the Bennets' marriage._

 **Chapter 24**

Leonard felt awkward being around his son and the new Mrs. Bennet. Though Leonard had done his best to drive it from his mind during his son's engagement period, he still had some attraction to the woman who was now his son's wife. It had not been so bad when she was visiting with her mother or the rest of her family, but now that it was just the three of them alone in the house (save for the servants), he was decidedly uncomfortable. He was certain it was just a matter of time before he would fully conquer the lustful thoughts that still occasionally plagued him and had resolved to always act the part of a father toward her.

It did not help in Leonard's efforts that often saw his son and Jane exchange lustful looks and (when they did not think he would notice) engage in little intimate touches and actions. He envied how his son's blissful state which brought into sharper relief Leonard's own loneliness. From everything he could gather, Jane welcomed all her husband's advances. Leonard saw things such as: Horace squeezing Jane's bottom as she walked by which she responded to by giggling and winking; Jane deliberately making an excuse to lean over by Horace to which he responded by very deliberately looking down the front of her dress; Horace sliding his fingers along Jane's neck and her responding faint moan.

Therefore, Leonard did his best to make himself scarce. He lived more in his mind than he ever had before, imagining returning to the sea. He had certainty of purpose there. It was a hard life, but there was a unity of purpose. It was a less confusing place as women only infrequently made an appearance as a receptacle for sailors' passion and then were gone again.

Despite how intimately Horace and Jane quickly came to know each other's bodies, they were not well acquainted with one another's minds. It took Horace perhaps two of three weeks into his marriage before he ever attempted to have a serious discussion with his wife. Before then, he was too busy trying out every variety of the most delightful of activities or thinking about what else Jane might be willing to try.

Finally, when Horace began to talk to his wife about more ordinary matters, Horace quickly came to understand that he had not really known Jane at all before their marriage. Horace learned that his wife was far simpler than his interactions with her in the presence of her mother had suggested and most definitely a pudding head. She had no hidden depths.

However, despite this fact, the beginning of their marriage was as ideal as one could hope, and Horace could not bring himself to let it trouble him overmuch. Jane's happiness with her new status and her enjoyment of the marital bed made her very good humored and she brought a lightness to Longbourn that had been missing.

Horace learned he needed explain things to his wife in short sentences, using small words. While he could not discuss his reading with her, that did not seem so important given how she made him feel. He was indulgent with her, as one might be with a winsome child. The joy Horace had gained in their marital intimacy made him overlook much.

Leonard for his part, found his unwanted attraction for his son's wife quickly waned when he, too, learned how silly she was. This was quite a relief to him and had him considering further the other woman who had caught his attention, not so much for her appearance (though he had liked how she looked, it could not compare to Jane Bennet's young nubile body), but for her conversation and mind. At his age, he knew he had not the stamina for protracted sessions of physical indulgence (certainly not the multiple times of day he suspected his son indulging in, as his son and daughter slept later, always excused themselves for a nap, and went to bed early). Instead, he longed for a companion.

For a time, Horace was happy and because his son was happy, Leonard was quite patient with his new daughter. Jane took to her new duties as mistress of the house better than her mother could have hoped. Although she did make mistakes, she did try to please the Bennet men as her mother had repeatedly told her that her happiness would depend on them being happy.

Too, Mrs. Pike's departure was not so long past that they could not favorably compare her acts as mistress to those of Mrs. Pike. When one of the Bennet men would get frustrated with something she had done, the other would remind him that the newly minted Mrs. Bennet was still learning her duties and would surely learn better.

Mrs. Gardiner was a fixture at the estate with the newly elevated Miss Gardiner. The Bennet men learned that if they gently brought up things with Mrs. Gardiner that Mrs. Bennet needed to do or needed to improve at, that her mother would help her. If Mrs. Gardiner sometimes completely took over the matter, at least it was accomplished.

When dealing with matters of the estate, Jane would send a carriage to retrieve her mother and sister, and they would go together to meet tenants and address their concerns. Although Mrs. Gardiner did most of the work, she had hope that Jane was learning.

Much to the new Mrs. Bennet's joy, Horace took her to London for the season. Although he disliked the city, he enjoyed seeing his wife's delight in all there was to see and do. Mrs. Bennet was quite good tempered, seeing that all she had dreamed for in her marriage was coming true.

While her daughter was gone to London, Mrs. Gardiner spent a lot more time in her own home than had been her usual wont following her daughter's marriage. While there, it seemed half empty to her now that they only had two children at home, and she anticipated it would not be long before Mr. Phillips would come to the point with Lydia.

However, over these months Earnest's hen provided a bit of a substitution for Mrs. Gardiner's motherly affection when she had chicks. Mrs. Gardiner remembered how Helena Hen had become a mother. It was a story involving a rooster who had flown a neighbor's coop.

One Friday afternoon as Earnest was outside with his hen (she had become such a pet to him that he could let her out without her harness, she liked to stay near him as he had bugs and treats for her in a jar that he kept with him), while Mary Gardiner was picking some greens for dinner from the vegetable patch. Mrs. Gardiner heard Earnest yell, "Mother, what do I do?"

Mary ran over, wondering what disaster had befallen Earnest or Helena Hen, but all she saw was a rooster dashing off.

"What happened Earnest?"

"That rooster must have been up in that maple tree as suddenly he dropped onto Helena. I thought at first it was a hawk come to snatch her. Then I worried he was hurting her as he pulled on some of her feathers as he was upon her back, but then he was done."

"It sounds like he was breeding with her, son. Perhaps you should ask Mrs. Andrews about it, but I think if you let her sit on the eggs that she lays in the next few days, you may be able to hatch some chicks and increase the size of your flock."

It turned out to not be a one-time event. The rooster was apparently enamored with Helena and the hen and the Gardiners became accustomed to him suddenly swooping in on Helena Hen. They let her sit upon several eggs, with Earnest cleverly marking the ones that he wished her to raise to chicks (the larger eggs) so that he could still collect some new ones.

Mary noticed that when Earnest accompanied her to distribute clothing that had been sewn for the poor, he often slipped a hard-boiled egg or two to some of the children they met.

Although the Gardiner home seemed emptier to Mary Gardiner, the following year she rejoiced when she saw that the Bennet family was soon to expand. Earnest seemed less impressed. He told his mother, "What is so great about Jane having a baby? Helena Hen can have dozens of chicks."

Horace and Jane's first child arrived almost two years after their marriage, in the summer of 1788. For the last few weeks of her pregnancy, Mrs. Gardiner for all practical purposes lived at Longbourn. She was forever tending to Mrs. Bennet and fussing over her. When Jane began to travail, Mrs. Gardiner was more attentive than any midwife (though of course the midwife was present). Mrs. Gardiner never left Jane's side except to use the necessary. She dabbed every bit of sweat from her daughter, rubbed her shoulders and back, gave her sips of chilled wine, and mercilessly told the coming baby, "Now child, it is time to be born soon, you will hurry up and spare your mother from suffering."

When the contractions came in earnest, Mrs. Gardiner held Jane's hands, she did not complain in the least when her daughter almost crushed them with each contraction, telling her, "You are doing so well. I am so proud of you. Just think, soon you will be a mother."

When Jane yelled (and she yelled something fierce and so loudly that it is doubtful that any within Longbourn did not hear her), the sound must have blasted her mother's ears, but when there was a pause Mrs. Gardiner only said, "Ah what strength you have Jane! Channel all that power into pushing the baby out."

Jane thrived on all this devoted attention and pushed with much vigor (though she also continued to yell). When she finally brought her babe forth (the midwife finally having something to do), Mrs. Gardiner cooed, "Oh, how well you have done Jane. It may not be a boy, but I have never beheld a more lovely girl child, except perhaps you or your sister, still see, it is just as I promised. I can tell she will have Mr. Bennet's golden hair and be a sweet, sweet child who will never give you any trouble. It will take longer to tell about her eyes, but I wager she shall have eyes of bluest, blue."

How Mary Gardiner could tell such a thing was a mystery to the midwife as the new baby had scarcely a bit of hair, only tiny fine wisps that were darkened by being wet with the essences of her birth. Temperament, too, was never revealed so soon. However, it was not long before all the newly minted Grandmama Gardiner said was shown to be true.

While Mrs. Bennet had been wishing for a boy to secure Longbourn (her father and mother had devoted a great deal of time to familiarize her with why a son was important given the entail), she was delighted with her infant girl. Jane declared from the first time she beheld her (to no one in particular), "She will be named Jane, also."

Mrs. Gardiner tried to reason with her, but in a delicate manner. "Now Jane, naming is usually the husband's province."

"Horace will not care, Mother," Jane asserted, not willing to hear any opposition.

When Horace visited Jane and the baby and she declared, "Horace, meet your daughter, Jane," he was not of a mind to disagree as he had her Jane's screams as she travailed. Such sounds had shaken him deeply and he had feared at the time that his wife was dying to bring forth her child. When Horace finally saw with his own eyes that his wife was well, and the baby lived also, he would have gladly granted her anything.

He only tried in a half-hearted way, saying, "Perhaps we should consider naming her Elizabeth after my mother." He thought it apt to honor her especially because it appeared baby Jane would have the fair hair and eyes he had gained from that side of the family.

However, Jane's only concession was to tell him (and she scarcely paid any mind to what she was saying), "Our next girl child can be called Elizabeth."

Jane did not really mean to be bound by this, but it did have the desired effect of Horace saying, "All right, welcome to our family, little Jane." That appellation stuck and for many a year she was almost universally called, "Little Jane."


	27. Chapter 25

_This chapter has a tragic ending, so steel your heart._

 **Chapter 25**

The birth of little Jane, and then having no wish to leave little Jane behind, provided Horace an excuse for not taking Jane on an extended trip to London for the following season. Jane was somewhat frustrated with realizing that she could not bend her husband to her desire for this but consoled herself by visiting the local shops and exceeding her pin money.

Horace was annoyed but did his best not to let it show. After all, they were working on producing his heir and he desired that his wife remain an enthusiastic participant in their efforts. While it was not the same as those first months as newlyweds, they still enjoyed their duties quite a bit.

Meanwhile, from what Horace and Jane could gather (Horace simply connecting his observations into the most logical hypothesis and Jane having been plainly informed by her mother), it seemed that Leonard had developed a certain fondness for the widow Mrs. Goulding (there was now a second Mrs. Goulding as the current Mr. Goulding had married). Horace had noted that to his surprise after Mrs. Pike left, his father continued to join him at church. Horace did not believe it was out of a newfound love for the Lord, but instead that it was done for the sole reason of allowing his father to exchange a few words with Joanna Goulding each time. He also noticed that his father was now a regular fixture at the assemblies and always danced one set with Joanna.

Horace was correct in his interpretation of the reason behind Leonard's new regular attendance at church and at the assemblies. Given Ashworth's distance from Meryton, these were the only events at which Leonard could be certain she would be found.

Horace rejoiced in the idea that perhaps his father would remarry and remain at Longbourn, while Jane was nervous as to how things would work in the household if her father-in-law married and there was now another woman constantly present. Her own insecurities made her worry about what another woman would think of how she served as mistress of the estate. However, when Leonard's pattern of behavior with the widow Mrs. Goulding continued and did not lead to matrimony, Horace and Jane and the local gossips turned their attention to other matters.

Although Horace promised they would travel for the London season the following year, Horace was delighted not to have to specifically rescind that promise as by late fall it was evident that Jane had become with child again.

When Horace and Jane shared the joyous news with Mrs. Gardiner, after expressing her delight she said, "What a blessing this is, though I know the timing is somewhat unfortunate Jane, as I know how much you were looking forward to attending the season."

"You think I cannot go?" Jane was horrified.

"It will be impossible. Think Jane! If you became with child the previous month, your child will arrive in late spring."

Jane tried to think through the math behind her mother's declaration. She shook her head annoyed that she could not do figuring in her head, but decided she did not need to as Horace was nodding along with her mother, so it must be true.

"Darling," Horace consoled, "perhaps this baby shall be a son and my heir; surely that is worth missing the season once again."

"But then you will not want us to go for the 1791 season either!" Jane complained.

"Jane," Mrs. Gardiner consoled, "this baby shall be worth all the bother, you will see."

As the Bennet family expanded, the Gardiners' flock of chickens grew also. Helena Hen produced a whole flock of chicks which soon became roosters and hens. Naturally, they could not keep all the roosters that Helena produced. The logical answer would have been to butcher them, but though Earnest had always liked chicken, he was much less desirous of eating Helena's offspring. Earnest began to trade away his roosters for other things (including a prize-winning rooster that he felt would benefit his flock), so that he would not have to know for certain that they were butchered.

The next generation of hens also produced more chicks and soon the whole yard became a chicken pasture. Mrs. Gardiner found the hens quite endearing. She found that, like Earnest, that sometimes it was quite soothing to go out and talk to their girls.

As the years passed, Helena Hen became an old biddy and only rarely laid an egg, but Earnest would not hear of eating her. She was the only chicken who always came when he called.

When Jane was about half-way through her second pregnancy, Longbourn's experienced housekeeper, Mrs. Webb, unexpectantly resigned from her position to join her daughter's household, a two-day journey away.

Looking back years later on the events that followed Mrs. Webb's departure, Horace determined it had been a portent of many worse things to come, but at the time it seemed of no great concern as hiring a new housekeeper should not be unduly difficult. As was only proper, he relied on his wife to hire another.

As she always did, Jane turned to her mother for advice. Mrs. Gardiner made inquiries and recommended the hiring of a housekeeper that ran a smaller household who her sister Catherine knew and believed well qualified, but Jane was not eager to interview a stranger due to her current condition. Mrs. Gardiner, however, thinking Jane was being unreasonable, did not give up and Jane had finally consented to interviewing the candidate. An appointment was set for the following day when something unexpected happened as Horace was escorting his wife and her mother through Longbourn's gardens as the November weather was quite fine.

Mrs. Gardiner was on Horace's left arm and Jane on his right, when he heard a rapid three beat gait and knew something was wrong as they were well distant from the stable and the training paddock. Horace immediately pulled Jane and her mother towards the side of the path, closer to overarching trees and away from the hedges but his attention was more focused on Jane. Somehow, Mrs. Gardiner became detached from his arm, but it should not have mattered; there were many paths through the gardens and it was unlikely that a runaway horse (for that was what the sound suggested) would even reach the garden, much less the particular path on which they had stood.

Horace was almost against a tree with Jane, when he turned to look behind him as the pounding had only growing louder, along with a scrapping noise. He saw a brown horse with a black mane bearing down on them, dragging an overturned wagon, its harness awkwardly tangled around it. The horse's eyes were rolling wildly and Horace could see the whites of its eyes. The horse gave a buck or two, trying to free itself, and then seemed to canter ever faster, he heard the three beats change to four in rapid succession as if speed alone would free it from what dragged behind.

The horse's neck was slick from sweat and its black mane flapping as its neck flexed while she galloped. Horace thought the steed lovely in its untamed fright and felt no fear himself. As the horse approached, she cast her head slightly towards where they were standing. Nostrils flaring with her efforts, she seemed to decide to bear closer to the tree they were under, rather than elsewhere through gardens or closer to the nearby hedges.

Horace knew he had to protect Jane and he pulled her behind the tree and over. He saw the horse pass the tree only a foot or two from where they stood, and he could feel the wind of her passing and they were both slapped by the small branches that recoiled against them after it passed and they bent back in their direction. Almost simultaneously, there was a screeching/scraping sound as the overturned wagon was dragged past the tree and a thump, thump as part of it passed over the hedges. As he watched it go, with a snap the wagon abruptly broke loose and the horse continued past them, ever faster now that the dragging wagon no longer encumbered her. Horace watched until he could no longer see or hear the mare.

Horace had no thought for Mrs. Gardiner until he helped Jane regain the path (she was trembling and somewhat unsteady on her feet and had a slight welt from a branch upon her face, but he was glad to see she had no other obvious injury). It was only then that he saw Mrs. Gardiner's crushed form next to the hedges.

Horace had the presence of mind to seat Jane down upon the ground (she was trembling and he feared she would fall) and run shouting toward the house for help. He was not there, then, when Jane picked herself up with effort and made her way over to her mother's broken body. He was not there when awkwardly eased herself down and made a futile effort to staunch her mother's blood. He was not there when Jane gathered her mother's head onto her lap below her belly, stroked her hair and sang to her as if she were little Jane. He was not there to hear Jane's keening cries as her song died away.

While Horace was only gone for a few minutes to get help from the stable and it did not take long to summon help and return with several men, there was nothing to be done for Mrs. Gardiner, but to lift her still and bloody body from the ground, carry it to the house and then prepare it for its final rest. Horace was so busy making sure everything was done properly for Mrs. Gardiner, that it was not he, but another that assisted his wife back to the house. By the time he thought to see how Jane was doing, she was in her room and the door was bolted shut.


	28. Chapter 26

_You can thank Jansfamily4 for this new chapter as she was the 4th reviewer. Things are still bad, but in Chapter 27 we will have the birth of Elizabeth; I will either post that Thursday or earlier if I get four reviews for this chapter._

 **Chapter 26**

Horace wanted to comfort his wife but when his knocks went unanswered, he decided she wanted to be left alone. He felt horrible that such a thing had befallen Mrs. Gardiner. She had felt almost as a mother to him, though quite different than his own. Yet as a man his method of coping with grief was to keep himself busy and not think about it if he could possibly avoid it. So, in the next hours and days he did all the practical actions necessary in the situation, rather making further efforts to seek to comfort his wife. He felt that if she wanted to be left alone, that he should leave her be.

Thus, he notified Mr. Gardiner and the Phillipses (Lydia had lately married Mr. Phillips). He arranged for a funeral service when Mr. Gardiner seemed unable to do so.

That night Horace tried the connecting door to his wife's chambers. He hoped she might be ready to let him comfort her. However, the door was still locked and he did not wish to knock and disturb her if she was sleeping.

Jane for her part was not sleeping. She was miserable and felt that Horace did not really care. She felt that if he had cared, that he would knock, beg and then demand to be admitted to her chambers and then when she unlocked the door, he would cradle her in his arms as romantic heroes were wont to do. She did not feel she should ask for what she wanted; he should just know what she wanted.

Leonard was no help to Horace in figuring out what he should be doing to tend to his wife. He felt he did not really understand women. He was loathe to offer any advice after how thoroughly his son had schooled him as far as the marital act.

The next morning, Horace was up early investigating the situation of the horse. Although he had not recognized her in the moment, it turned out that the horse, Bess, was one of Longbourn's own and the injured driver, Miller, who had been thrown from the wagon long before it reached the gardens, knew not what had startled her but confessed he had not put her blinkers upon her that day.

"Bess is a gentle horse, patient, even-tempered, not flighty in the least. I saw no need for her blinkers, seldom used them with her."

Bess when she had finally run herself out, had been spotted by a Netherfield hand, but as it was already dusk, she had been placed in their stables and was returned until mid-morning. Horace looked her over with a groom, who pointed to a swelling spot upon her flank. "See that master, it is a bee sting that done it and there remains the stinger!"

Horace knew then that the use of blinkers would have made no difference, that it was simply a horrible accident. He consulted with his father, asking him, "Father, what should be done about Bess?"

Leonard opined, "You know as well as I that Bess was not to blame. Any horse will run when panicked and between the bee sting and the wagon overturning and catching on everything in its path, there was plenty to keep her panicked. I think, though, it might be best to sell her so that Bess's presence will not be a reminder to us about the tragedy that occurred."

Horace agreed that his father's advice was sound. Thus, Horace instructed that Bess be taken to another county and sold.

When all of this was finished, it was midafternoon. Horace inquired after his wife and learned that none had seen her but little Jane's nurse. He had wanted to tell Jane about what he had learned about Bess and what he had done afterwards, but he did not want to disturb her if she still wanted to be left alone. However, he left instructions that her meals should be brought to her chambers if she did not venture out.

Other than having little Jane visit her, Jane took to her bed and refused to stir from her chambers that day. Whereas before it had been quiet (as Jane had not even been able to cry that same day), the next time Horace approached much weeping and wailing could be heard within.

Horace did knock then and asked, "Will you not let me in? Should you not let me comfort you at such a time as this?"

"Leave me be!" she yelled. In the day and a half she had been left alone, she had been thinking and she had come to some unusual conclusions that she may not have if she had sought out her husband's comfort.

Therefore, she declared, "I shall have nothing to do with the man who caused my mother's death. Why did you not pull her also, behind the tree?"

Having heard from Jane's nurse early rumors about the cause of the accident, she added, "Why did you let Miller draw Bess with no blinkers?"

He shouted back to her, "I did my best to protect you. I wanted to protect you both. There is never any certainty about what a spooked horse will do. Bess was stung, blinkers cannot prevent the panic from a sting."

"Still, Miller did not do his duty, letting her get away from him. I know what you were doing in keeping me safe, it was all about your heir! Leave me be, let me alone."

Though he tried several times to speak to her through her chamber doors all their conversations ended in some variation of "You left my mother to die."

Horace knew not how to reason with her when she would not see reason.

When Horace consulted with his father about it, Leonard was at a loss, saying, "Perhaps it is her condition. Mayhap things will improve after the baby is born."

Horace went about his business and tried to ignore that his wife had barred him from her chamber. He was frustrated that she was suffering, and he could do nothing. He was also frustrated that he was reduced to using his hand to satisfy his desires, something that had rarely been needed since his marriage.

It did not help that he overheard his manservant telling the butler, "Mrs. Bennet continues to go after the master all dish and rails. Having seen it, I will never be caught in the mouse trap. I tell you when the next baby arrives it will be nothing but marriage music around here, but double because Mrs. Bennet keeps crying, too."

At least the butler had the good sense to tell him, "The missus lost her mother. Have some compassion, man. It cannot be easy to be waiting on a little one and have one's mother gone."

The new order of things was that now Mrs. Bennet rarely ventured from her chambers. She took all her meals in her room, and other than shouting with him through the door, and saw none but Jane, Jane's nurse, her maid and her sister.

With such events transpiring, Jane never interviewed the housekeeper candidate. Horace and Leonard did not raise the issue given her behavior, the fact that she was mourning and her ever increasing girth. When they discussed the matter, they had decided that Longbourn could go on well enough for a while with no housekeeper and perhaps Jane would be fit to interview candidates a few weeks after the baby arrived.


	29. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The birth of Jane's second child was far more difficult than that of her first. It did not help that she was weakened by having spent much of her pregnancy in bed, grieving and feeling depressed. Additionally, in her laboring she missed her mother's assistance and soothing hands.

It never occurred to the midwife or Mrs. Phillips (Lydia had married only a month before her mother's death and had not attended her sister's first confinement as then she was still a maid) that Jane's progression might be aided if she was relaxed by the rubbing of her shoulders and back as her mother would have done. So instead, the midwife and Mrs. Phillips mostly just watched Mrs. Bennet's efforts from their own chairs on the opposite side of the room until the main event was at hand. However, despite the longer labor, the baby was eventually delivered. No one praised Jane or remarked on the beauty of this child and Jane felt more relief than joy that her labor was done.

As Jane was still not speaking with Horace, and she said nothing to anyone about it, he did not know that she wanted to name this new baby for her mother. Somewhat unreasonably, she believed that Horace should just understand her mind.

When Horace was presented with his second daughter by the midwife (who dutifully apologized that it was not a son), he wished to see Jane. This second daughter, despite having the elongated head of freshly emerging from the womb, had dark fuzz upon her head and reminded him of his wife. But he believed Jane still did not want to see him (why else had he not been admitted to her room?).

He remembered, though, that Jane had agreed their next girl child could be named Elizabeth for his mother. Therefore, Horace pronounced, "Her name is Elizabeth." It did not occur to him that because the horse who had harmed her mother was named Bess, that any associated name was now abhorrent to Jane.

Under the circumstances of the last several months and the birth itself, it was understandable that Jane was quite weak and ill for some time. She felt quite ill-used that she would eventually have to resume marital relations to keep trying for the needed boy.

The nursemaid that tended to Jane brought her frequently to her mother's chambers. However, the wet nurse tending to Elizabeth would not presume to bring the baby to her mother when it had never been requested.

Jane welcomed little Jane's presence. Spending time with little Jane was soothing to her mother, and Jane was an easy child.

Passing by his wife's chambers one day, Horace chanced to hear Jane complaining to her maid, "I am so tired, how can I recover when Lizzy's crying keeps me up every night?" Horace was surprised to hear his wife complain about this as though the nursery was near their chambers, he never heard the crying himself. He did not know that part of why the babe's crying upset her mother was that Jane knew she was not tending to her as a mother ought.

Horace, seeking to help his wife recover and noting she had yet to visit baby Elizabeth in the nursery, decided after a few days that perhaps it might help if Lizzy should be housed with her wet nurse in the village (rather than having the wet nurse reside at Longbourn with her own child through the weaning, as had been done with baby Jane), so as to not disturb his wife's sleep. It was a decision he would come to regret as he failed to inquire as to what Jane wished (he could hardly do so when she refused to be in his presence).

Jane, who now predisposed to think ill of any of her husband's actions, thought it a sign that he did not trust her to handle two children. Indeed, she did feel ill equipped to fulfill all that was expected of her as a wife, mother and the mistress of Longbourn without her mother's guidance and support.

From the time of the baby's removal, Horace faithfully visited Lizzy at least twice a week, awkward as it was to call without his wife. When Horace received reports that Jane had improved, he invited her by note to accompany him to visit the baby. He received word back that she had refused.

Jane irrationally thought that Horace should know that she feared the very idea of being in a carriage, perhaps being conveyed by the very horse that had taken her mother's life and the driver who had failed to control her. Jane did not think to inquire as to what had become of Bess.

Finally, time itself softened Mrs. Bennet and eventually her desire to see her new daughter overshadowed her fear of Bess and the driver. Therefore, she ventured down for breakfast one morning and said, "Hello Mr. Bennet," to her husband, and asked, "today would you bring me to see my daughter? I would ride in the carriage but that killer horse Bess will never convey me and neither shall Miller ever drive me."

Horace agreed with alacrity, explaining, "Indeed I would be pleased to convey you there. Bess is long gone, and Miller only ever drives the farm carts."

If Jane was silent in the carriage, Horace still anticipated the pleasure she would take in seeing her baby. He finally had some hope.

Jane was pleased to note when the wet nurse brought baby Elizabeth toward her, that her second girl was a becoming child who in the weeks since she had seen her last had the pleasing roundness of health.

Jane held out her arms, desiring to hold her. However, given that Elizabeth had never spent any time with her mother, during the visit she clung to her wet nurse and Horace. Jane tried not to care that it was others that the baby reached for, clung to, and not herself. Still, Horace was determined that his wife would hold her child, so he himself placed Elizabeth in Jane's arms. Jane felt uncomfortable and awkward with this baby in her arms and baby Elizabeth seemed to know it as she began crying.

"What an ungrateful child!" Mrs. Bennet declared in a huff, covering up her grief that her child did not know her with an anger that was easier somehow to bear. "Does she not understand how much work it was to birth her?"

She would not listen when Horace tried to explain that little Lizzy needed time to come to know her. She insisted on immediately returning home and as Horace did not want to air their business in front of the wet nurse and her family, he instructed their driver to take her home. Himself, he stayed to complete his visit with his little Lizzy and then walked home afterwards.

Jane was angry that Horace did not escort her home and felt herself much ill-used that she was taking only her second carriage ride since her mother's death via horse and wagon, with no one at her side. She felt he was favoring his younger daughter over her. Thus, her resentment of Elizabeth grew. In the months that followed, Jane was most unwilling to venture to see baby Elizabeth again and, yet, also angry that Horace regularly visited without her.

Given Mrs. Bennet's lasting grief and anger, the whole tone of the household changed when she no longer kept to her chambers. Horace did not know how to help her and thus for a while let her do exactly as she pleased and mostly tried to stay out of her way. Jane made no effort to please anyone.

As the household still needed a housekeeper, eventually the Bennet men interviewed and hired one. Jane took this as a sign that no one trusted her judgment and irritation and nervousness became the utmost sign of her grief. Additionally, she let the new housekeeper do as she wanted and as this new housekeeper was rather more inexperienced than she had led the men to believe, she did not handle the staff well.

Longbourn had gone from being a place of joy to being grave as a tomb. To make matters worse, a couple of surly and lazy servants were allowed to continue without correction. Although they did nothing too abhorrent, their actions caused much irritation and annoyance to everyone, making Leonard and Horace short tempered.

Leonard's desire to escape increased but logically he knew that he could not go. While he had stayed more than the two years his son had requested and longed to sail far away where his guilt in getting his son to agree to such an unequal match was subsumed in hard work, he could not depart while things remained as they were. This did not keep him from writing a new set of letters to inquire about possibilities for sailing away from there, though he knew he could not leave as of yet. Leonard resumed spending a good portion of each day staring at the ship in the painting. If he could not sail away in fact, at least he could think about it.

Although the midwife had long ago told Jane and Horace Bennet that Jane was fit to resume her marital duties, and indeed Horace could see that Jane was much improved in her condition as she seemed to be taking more interest in their household, she did not seem to be softening much toward him. While Horace longed for his wife, Jane kept her door locked.

As the days slowly passed, Jane's anger toward her husband lessened. However, she still had no longing for him and kept him from her chambers. Although she did not name what she was feeling to herself, she was depressed. Too, even thinking of the marital act was tied up with memories of the education her mother had provided.

Horace was very frustrated with the situation, but still did not know what to do about it. He tried to be patient, remembering how hard it had been when his own mother died (even though he had known for some time that it was likely to occur). How much worse must it be to have one's mother die unexpectedly in a horrible accident while she was visiting you?

As the months went by, though Jane still bore resentment towards her husband, her reason finally began to win out and her anger to lessen. It helped when her father visited her. He told Jane how pleased her mother would have been to have a second granddaughter and that he had twice been to see Lizzy with Mr. Bennet, Lydia and Edward, and they all agreed that baby Elizabeth was quite becoming, with her dark beauty a lovely counterpoint to that of her sister. But it was the end of the conversation which had the most salutary effect on Mrs. Bennet.

Mr. Gardiner told her, "I know my wife, your mother; she would have freely given her life to ensure your safety and that of your daughter. I know you are still angry with your husband. I am angry, too, but not at him, but at God, that my wife was taken too soon. I did not understand before how much I depended on her, but she was the hub in the center of a wheel which allows everything else to turn. You are a hub in a wheel, too, though, and you are still here. Your husband and your two daughters depend upon you, as does this household, and the Longbourn tenants."

"What if I do not want any of it anymore?" Jane asked. "Sometimes all I want is to return to my childhood home and go on as if I had never married."

"You may wish for that, but there is no going back. If you were to leave your husband, daughters and Longbourn to return to live with me and your brother, you would find that the emptiness you feel here would follow you there. It is not that either of these places is wrong, save for the fact that your mother does not occupy them. Your mother is not in my home any more than she is here. There are only memories. While I would welcome your presence, I know this is not the answer. You must try to claim your life again and find meaning in your role here. If you must be angry with someone, be angry with God. He can bear it far better than your husband can. Your husband has suffered enough for something he did not do."

Mr. Gardiner raised his hand when his daughter made as if to speak, and Jane remained silent. "Horace Bennet was not the horse who trampled your mother. He was not the fate that directed that horse in the exact path of your mother. He was not the fear and pain that made the horse run. He was not the bee that stung the horse's flank. He was not the man driving the horse who might have stilled her run. He was not the wagon maker who might have made a sturdier wagon which would not upend, or a better harness. He was not the stable hands who might have caught her.

"He was the person who pulled you to safety, who protected you and your baby as a husband and father is supposed to do. He was the one that ran to get aid for your mother. He was the one who arranged for her to be properly honored in her death. You need to try to forgive Mr. Bennet for any small and inadvertent role he may have played."

Jane did not understand the word, "inadvertent," but she did not need to ask her father its meaning to catch the gist and understand that, truly, Horace was not to blame, had never meant to cause her pain. Still, the distance that had been created between them was hard to bridge.

One night about a week after this talk, Jane, was lying awake in her chambers, thinking about her mother as she often did. Unbidden, a memory rose up vivid in her mind. Jane remembered the talks her mother had given her about her marital duties, how her mother had emphasized that as a married woman she would need to satisfy her husband's sexual hungers if she wanted to keep him good tempered and to confine his pleasures to the marriage. She suddenly felt the weight of how she was failing her mother in not following her advice.

Jane then tried to see if she could muster up some desire for the act. Although she could remember all that they had done together and the enjoyment it had given her, she felt no longing within her, no wetness between her legs. It was as if she was a young woman again who could not really conceive of how her body was made to experience this kind of pleasure.

However, Jane reasoned (though it took a long time for her to do so), that she needed to let her husband back into her bed. Therefore, she got up, unlatched their connecting door and finally pulled it open.

The door hinges were well oiled, and the door made hardly a sound as she opened it. The rug was also thick and muffled her steps. Horace certainly would have seen her if he had been looking in her direction because her night rail was a light color, seemingly white in the bit of moonlight that penetrated the curtains.

However, Horace's eyes were not open, though he was awake. Horace was stroking himself, trying to give himself some relief and pleasure. He was still in his twenties with all the vigor one might expect. He was visualizing a woman stroking him. It was not his wife (whenever he pictured her now, she was looking at him with a most displeased expression, a half scowl), but it was not anyone who existed either.

He heard, "Horace?"

His eyes snapped open and he saw his wife standing next to his bed. She was a vision, luscious and desirable. Her breasts were still engorged from having birthed his child, her hips and stomach still rounder though her body had thinned considerably from what it had been when it held his child. Horace desperately wished to pull his wife into his bed, to feel the changes to her body and have his way with her. He had an overwhelming desire to thrust his ready arbor vitae into her janua vitae, but knew she was not ready for that. One thing he had early learned in his marriage was that while he might be ready in an instant just from having seen her and knowing what could follow, she usually needed time for her desire to build.

Instead Horace forced himself to lie there, his hand still clasped around himself but no longer stroking. "Yes, Jane?" He was embarrassed and scared to ruin whatever impulse had brought her through his door.

"I . . . I can help you with that." Without waiting for any reply, she lifted the counterpane, entered his bed and replaced his hand with her own. It took only five strokes for him to come undone.

As Horace cleaned himself up, he wondered what her intentions were. Jane remained in his bed, but other than her earlier touching him of him there, held her body away from his.

Given his deprivation, Horace knew he could be ready again, soon, if she desired. However, he did not want to do anything that she did not wish and drive her away. He wanted to please her, to make her feel pleasure again, to erase the tightness in her brow that he really could not see in the dark but imagined, was almost certain, was still there.

Finally, he asked, "What can I do for you?" The words sounded so mundane when he said them, so he quickly added, "Jane, darling, I would like to give you pleasure, if I can, if you would like it."

"I do not know what I want," she finally confessed, her voice sounding awkward to her own ears. "I am not feeling what I should be feeling, what I used to feel when beside you. I am not feeling much of anything besides sad and angry."

"Let me hold you," Horace told her, and they moved towards one another. He held her to his chest and enfolded her in his arms. He gently tucked her head under his chin and stroked her back. He held her for a long time, and she was half asleep before he finally slipped a bit away from her.

Jane fell asleep curled up next to him, in the comfort of his solid warmth. It took Horace a considerably longer time to drift off. Consequentially, Jane woke up earlier than Horace and contemplated him in the early morning light. She saw how much his hair matched that of little Jane. She found herself stroking her fingers through his blonde hair, much as she sometimes did with little Jane. It was soft and smooth, felt good against and between her fingers.

Horace awoke to her touch on his head, and a corresponding delightful tightening in his groin, but forced himself to lie still, only opening his eyes. He saw that Jane was looking at him and that the crease between her brows had smoothed quite a bit from when he had last seen it in the daylight.

She continued to stroke his hair and he continued to let her do it. After several minutes of this, she asked shyly, "Do you think you could try to make me feel good?"

He answered her with gentle touches, first just around her face. He traced her jawline with a finger, kissed her brow and her cheek, waited for her to show some sign that she was ready for more. Finally, she touched her lips to his in the lightest of kisses. He returned her kiss gently, languorously. Gradually he deepened the kiss, drawing the tip of his tongue against hers as his hands gently stroked down the sides of her body, his thumbs barely touching the sides of her breasts through her night garment.

Horace gradually stroked nearer to the places on her body that he most wished to touch. He sought to draw a moan from her or any other sign of delight. Those signs were slow to come, but eventually they did come: a little quiver, a slight biting of her lip, a pressing of her thighs together and finally a sigh that was not quite a moan. He noted many small signs that her desire was beginning to grow but held himself back.

The sun was quite high in the sky before their bodies were finally joined together. Afterwards they felt a certain contentment from their rapprochement. However, although Jane had let Horace back into her bed and locked her door no more, things were not the same as before.


	30. Chapter 28

_Remember, 4 reviews will earn you the next chapter early._

 **Chapter** **28**

 _Rated "M"_

Although during the years following the assembly at which Leonard had first danced with Joanna Goulding, he continued in his attentions to her (though with the normal withdrawal in the first period of his household's mourning for Mrs. Gardiner), Joanna was confused in what it all meant. At first, Joanna thought they were informally courting, but Leonard said nothing in particular to make her certain this was so and as time passed, she became more doubtful. Leonard simply talked to her more than he did to other people and seemed drawn to her at every social occasion at which they were both present. She thought, perhaps, that he found her good company and believed that as a widow in a comfortable home, she had no expectations.

Joanna was less happy then she had been in the Goulding home. She had given way to the new Mrs. Goulding as was proper but felt more uncertain as to what her own place should be. She felt impossibly old as now everyone was referring to her not just as "Mrs. Goulding" or the slightly worse, "the elder Mrs. Goulding," but almost universally as "the widow Mrs. Goulding." Marrying again became more desirable even as it seemed less likely.

Leonard thought Mrs. Goulding was certainly pleasant company and he enjoyed their talks and spending time with her. He told her many tales of his time at sea (or at least those that could be told in polite company), which was an indulgence for him. He considered whether he had grown to love her but feared if he admitted he did that it would turn out to be unrequited.

He could not help but remember the thought that had crossed his mind after Jane had innocently touched his face, that if Mrs. Goulding had touched his face, she would have known what she was about. Leonard lamented that Mrs. Goulding always remained so proper with him so that he did not feel encouraged enough to take the next step, to bridge the gap, and face rejection.

Leonard felt he was just being appropriately cautious. He had believed Jane Gardiner had an interest in him and he had been mistaken. Too, it would not do to engage the widow Mrs. Goulding's affections if he might soon be departing. He was drawn to looking at the painting evermore as the household was still under the shadow of Mrs. Bennet's bereavement. Justifying himself in the notion that Mrs. Bennet had improved enough that he had no real need to stay and help his son, he had once more begun sending out inquiries about joining a voyage of exploration.

Joanna Goulding tried to have no expectations of Leonard Bennet, but it was hard. She always wished to be charming but not forward and it was a delicate balance that left her cranky afterwards.

Finally, Joanna had enough; she resolved that at the August assembly, she would make things clear to the elder Mr. Bennet and accept whatever might come. She knew that Leonard Bennet would ask her for a set as he always did (though never the first, the last or the supper set, and he always made sure to dance with at least three ladies and not unduly single her out). Joanna arranged with her sister Dorothy Hill that Dorothy would serve as a chaperone for what Joanna intended to do after their dance.

When they danced it was the same as always. Leonard and Joanna smiled at each other, exchanged a few pleasantries and she inquired after his family. Joanna was genuinely concerned with his daughter Mrs. Bennet's grief, but as she did not know her hardly at all she could not do anything to remedy the situation and as she had not been asked for any suggestions, she did not think it was her place to make any.

Leonard then followed the usual pattern by beginning to regale her with a tale by inquiring, "Did I ever tell you about . . . "

Joanna knew what was to come was one of his stories about his life at sea. She was almost certain that she had heard all of them before and normally would enjoy hearing them as many times as he might like to share them as on each retelling they grew more vivid in her imagination and she could picture watching and participating in what occurred, but she was nervous about what she wished to do later and thus replied somewhat crossly, "I do not feel like listening to another one of your stories right now."

Leonard was crestfallen and for the first time since deciding that he was interested in Mrs. Goulding, they were both silent as they danced the rest of the set. When the set concluded, and Leonard would have left Mrs. Goulding on the edge of the floor without another word, she suddenly said, "Mr. Bennet, I wish to speak with you outside."

Joanna noticed her sister was close at hand as requested and the three of them went outside. When Leonard started to pause just outside the door in clear and proper view of the others, Joanna said, "Let us walk, my sister Dorothy shall remain near." So, they walked out in the moonlight and down the road several paces until no one was in sight except for Mrs. Hill.

Leonard did not know what was happening, but felt trepidation mixed with excitement. He was not sure if their tête-à-tête would end with a slap, a kiss or something else that he could not anticipate.

Mrs. Goulding stopped and turned to face him. He noted that she looked angry but somehow in the light of the full moon, there was a sizzle in her glance, like bacon cooking in a pan, both delicious and dangerous. He thought she never looked lovelier.

"Mr. Bennet, we must have talked hundreds of times and danced dozens of times over these recent years. Your attention has been marked, my enjoyment of said attention has been obvious, and yet nothing ever changes. What on earth are you about? Stop dangling me; I cannot take any more of this. If you plan to never come to the point, let me be!"

"Do you care for me, then, Mrs. Goulding?" He asked her, his voice barely a whisper which nevertheless cracked awkwardly, reminding her of a boy whose voice was changing into that of a man.

Mrs. Goulding placed her hands on her hips and gave him an exasperated look. "What do you think?"

"I have been hoping, wishing that you did, but I did not wish to be an old fool. What kind of lady who had security in life would take a chance on a square toes like me? Longbourn is not mine; I am merely a guest at my son's request; and I am ugly."

"You are only a fool for taking so long!"

Leonard pulled Joanna into his arms and though he had only intended to place a small kiss upon her lips before pulling back and proposing, he found himself swept away when her lips eagerly, urgently met his, and she ran her hands along his neck and back as she pressed her body against him.

Leonard kissed her with all the repressed passion the years of longing had contained. As he kissed her, his hands stroked along her backside and pulled her ever closer. Joanna had never been kissed like that before. Leonard kissed her with an intensity and zeal as if kissing her and melding their bodies together was the only thing that mattered to him or ever would.

Things might then have gone too far if Mrs. Hill had not intervened. Each felt her hands prying them apart. "Anyone might see!" she whispered with a quiet intensity, though it took a few seconds for her words to take on any meaning as they were both focused on each other to the exclusion of anything else.

While Mrs. Hill finally succeeded in pulling them apart, Leonard's eyes never left Joanna's. He saw nothing beyond her. He asked the first thing to come into his head: "My darling, do you wish for the bans or can I convince you to marry this week with a common license?"

"Sooner would be better," she replied, "though you yet, have failed to propose."

Leonard felt his face get hot. Joanna observed to herself that he was blushing.

"It seems I continue to be a fool." He dropped down to one knee, feeling his years in that awkward posture and the rocks beneath it, but unmindful of anything but holding her hand in both of his own and the way the moonlight illuminated half of her face.

He implored, "My dear, my darling, my beloved, I beg of you. Will you do me the great honor, though I have nothing much to recommend me but myself, of marrying me?"

She gave a slight nod and helped pull him up, his hands in hers. and they would have kissed once more had Dorothy not pulled her away, saying, "Nothing more until you are married." So, it was that they married four days later, on August 27, 1790.

Joanna entered into the marriage understanding that Leonard was no longer the master of Longbourn (he discussed the matter when he negotiated her marital settlement with Joanna, Mr. Goulding and Mr. Lucas). Joanna had more to her name upon their marriage than he did. By right, it now all became his. However, he agreed to return all of it to her in provisions for her and any children they might have.

In a later, more private conversation, though suitable chaperoned by her sister, Leonard disclosed, "Joanna, it is most unfortunate, but part of me no longer being the master means that the master's suite is now my son's. I hope you will not be too disappointed in our more modest rooms. They have no private entrance between them but are located as far from the young Mr. and Mrs. Bennet's rooms as I could contrive."

She gave him a knowing look, which had left him in some difficulty in attending to the rest of their conversation, and said, "I am pleased we will not be residing in the chamber you shared with Horace's mother."

Their wedding was simple, but neither of them cared. They had, the both of them, waited a long time to know the other's feelings.

Joanna for her part, did her best to try to enjoy her wedding breakfast. It had only been a few days earlier when she had not known whether she would ever be Mrs. Bennet. Too, she would never have another wedding breakfast.

While her sisters were both there and Edith was trying her best to be cheerful, Joanna knew that her marriage was one more blow to her. Joanna knew she could not have matched Leonard to Edith even if she had wanted to do so, and she certainly had no regret that he was now her husband. She also doubted that Edith would have appreciated him.

Joanna wanted to care about Edith's feelings, knew she would care about them later, but now on her wedding day she could not let it concern herself and steal any of the precious happiness she had gained. She would worry about Edith and commiserate with her on another day. But not too soon, she thought, I must enjoy being a newlywed.

Joanna felt that though her Virgil had become quite dear to her, that it was much more joyful to enter a marriage already loving her husband. She had a new chance to be happy and anticipated that Leonard would likely be ready to please her on any occasion in which it might be satisfactory to both. Too, she had hope that she might yet bear a child as she had so long desired.

Leonard thanked providence and again and again that he had not wed Miss Gardiner, yet in beholding both women at his wedding breakfast, he felt a slight sting to his conscience that he had foisted her off on his son. Jane Gardiner was certainly the lovelier of the two, but Horace deserved more than he had.

However, that thought quickly exited his mind as he anticipated all that was to come. Leonard Bennet had indeed availed himself of all of his son's knowledge in the few days between his engagement and his wedding, though that conversation was mortifying to both.

Leonard found himself frequently calculating how much longer their guests might remain. The minutes ticked by slowly. In his mind he was already seeing the time to come when he could lead Joanna out from the dining room, traverse the stairs and walk all the way down the hall to the waiting door. When he opened it and led her through it, then they would finally reach the place in which the vows they had made could be fulfilled and they would become one flesh and worship each other with their bodies.

Joanna's thoughts lay in a similar vein to Leonard's though rather than calculating the time that must elapse, she tried to occupy herself with conversation and spend time with each guest. However, as each one departed, she found herself anticipating what was to follow. Dorothy and the new Mrs. Goulding had been far too diligent of chaperones and, thus, her contact with Leonard had been limiting to the holding of hands.

The new Mrs. Goulding seemed to take a perverse interest in limiting the activities of her elders, not even allowing them to speak out of her hearing and never letting them sit on a sofa next to each other. Joanna rued the fact that she had been a diligent chaperone for her brother and sister, and her new sister seemed to think that turn-about was well deserved.

Later that day, just after the last guest had departed and far sooner than perhaps was in good taste, Leonard and Joanna retired to their chambers, or rather to the slightly bigger room among the two. Their anticipation was rewarded with a union sweeter than either recalled.

Leonard learned for his part that as much as he had grown to love his Elizabeth, that in some ways Joanna was a better match for him, especially in how their marriage started. She was no wary maiden, uncertain as to what the marital bed was about; instead that first night she left him in no doubt about what she desired and her pleasure in having those desires fulfilled.

Both Leonard and Joanna were so eager for such an event that no sooner than the door was shut and latched, they were clinging to each other, all lips, hands and pressed bodies. Though neither had intended their first joining to be rushed, they ended up taking a flourish, only moving aside the necessary clothing.

Leonard had some concerns that he would have less vigor given his age but was pleased to note that his body rose to the occasion and was up for another round of quiffing later that evening. They took more time then, but Joanna seemed as eager as before from the way she handled his tackle.

Leonard felt young again, when they held each other. It felt as if Joanna could see the man that lay beneath his exterior, the man that was under his scar, wrinkles, the thickening of his middle that had gradually occurred over the years, and thinning hair, or perhaps it was that she could see his true self despite these things.

That first morning after they were wed Leonard awoke to Joanna softly kissing the path of his scar, from the tiny point it ended at in his scalp, down to its termination in his eyelid. While his Elizabeth had traced his scar with her finger, this was different.

"What are you doing?" He asked her sleepily, not dismayed but curious.

"I am thanking your scar."

"Whatever for?"

"Because the skin knit together here, you did not receive a grievous infection and die. Too, had you never received this scar the course of your life would have been much altered. Perhaps you would not have married the younger Mr. Bennet's mother, perhaps whomever you married would still be alive."

She placed several additional kisses along his scar as he lightly traced the side of her body with his hand, thinking that he knew how he would like to start his day should she, his wife, be willing.

Joanna did nothing to still his caress. She felt an ache of desire bloom within herself and thought of how close his lips were to hers. There is no rush, she reminded herself. She wanted to finish her explanation and the anticipation was part of the delight.

"Even if you had become a widower in the exact same way, I suspect you would have remarried far sooner without this scar, perhaps to some local beauty willing to sell herself for the comforts you could offer, but who knew nothing of your mind, your heart."

"You are beautiful," he told her and believed it. Because she was now his beloved, the features that were only pleasant to him when she was little more than an acquaintance, were now very fine as belonging to his dear wife.

She gave him a slight smile. "If that is true, why did you resist my charms so long and hide away from all society after you became a widower? And when you reemerged, why did you only ask me to dance when I practically threw myself in your path while my sister sought your son?"

"Because I was still a fool."

"If you are a fool, it does not matter because you are my fool now. Yet here we are together, united, because my husband and your wife are not. It seems wrong somehow that our happiness required them to exit the stage. Still, I thank your scar for whatever role it has played."

Whatever else either one of them might have said was silenced when Horace turned his head just enough to capture her mouth and the morning proceeded in a manner that brought delight and fulfillment to both.


	31. Chapter 29

_You may all thank liysyl for being the 4th reviewer and getting you this chapter sooner. We are now mostly through this story and at the part where I need to do more revising/adding in to round out the story so I am not going to promise from here on out to post early if I get enough reviews, though I will do my best._

 **Chapter 29**

Leonard and Joanna could not remain newlyweds for long. While they stayed ensconced in Leonard's chambers for a few days, after the initial day or so of intimacies, Leonard soon discovered that his desire exceeded his physical capacity. Still, he found other ways to delight his bride even if he was not up for the final act each time and she had no cause to complain.

Joanna would have happily remained alone with Leonard, but knowing that they were part of a larger household, she finally insisted that they must emerge. She was anxious to try to forge a relationship with the younger Mrs. Bennet as they had only been passing acquaintances before.

Jane had been diffident when Joanna first visited Longbourn as her father-in-law's fiancée. There was no real time for them to get acquainted in the short interlude between his proposal and their marriage, but Joanna was determined to forge a friendship with the young woman who had lost her mother all too soon. Joanna's mother was gone also, but she died only a few years prior, and though Joanna missed her mother, the illness that had claimed her life gave Joanna time to adjust to the fact that her mother would be departing. She knew that Jane had her mother snatched from life by a tragedy and sensed there was some tension between the younger Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.

On the first morning that Joanna came upon Jane when neither of the men were present, there was a bit of awkwardness as neither knew what to expect. Joanna took the lead, saying, "Thank you so much Mrs. Bennet, for welcoming me into your home. I expect it cannot be easy to have your father-in-law bring home a wife who will now become part of your household with no say on your part in the matter. Please know, I have no wish to displace you from your rightful role as mistress but wish to be of any aid to you that I can." She then gave a deep curtsey as a proper sign of respect (even though she felt a bit ridiculous doing so to a woman so much younger than her, who had only in the last few years been elevated to the sphere of wife to landed gentleman).

Jane did not know what she had been expecting from her step-mother-in-law, but this was not it. She felt a bit of a prink to her conscience as she knew she had done nothing to welcome the elder Mrs. Bennet into her home.

Jane said the first thing that entered her head, "Thank you Mrs. Bennet. You really do not want to take my place? I thought that was why the elder Mr. Bennet married you and why you married him. I thought they brought you in to run things because I have done so poorly as mistress and they could not be rid of me."

"Oh Mrs. Bennet, nothing could be further from the truth," Joanna hastened to reassure Jane. "Leonard and I married for affection and no other reason. I knew he was not the master and I would not be the mistress."

"But the elder Mr. Bennet is so old, and ugly, too!" Jane exclaimed. She quickly added, not wanting to offend Joanna, "He is a nice man and has been quite kind to me, so I can see how someone might want to marry him but to what end? If not to be Mistress of Longbourn, why would you leave your home? Being married to him must be little different from living with your brother. Surely, he is too old for," she dropped her voice low, "physical affection."

Joanna was not offended by Jane's ridiculous assumptions. She felt that Jane, though even more ignorant than she expected from what Leonard had said about her, was harmless, perhaps sweet even. It was obvious that Jane was not trying to offend her. While Joanna did not feel the need to explain her intimate relationship with Leonard to Jane, she also did not want Jane to think there was no physical relationship between herself and her new husband.

She settled for telling Jane, "I am quite pleased with my new husband and have no complaints. There is a reason why we stayed mostly in our chambers for a few days."

"You mean you . . . ." Jane made a grimace and shuddered. The thought of the elder Mr. Bennet being naked and doing what she did with her Horace, was disgusting to her. Fortunately for Jane, as she lived mostly in the present, she had forgotten all about that brief period of time when she might have been Leonard's bride.

Joanna asked matter-of-factly, "What makes it so hard to think that physical affection would be impossible at his age?"

"Then that means that before my mother died my parents were still . . . ." Jane looked aghast.

"The years will go by faster than you think, Mrs. Bennet."

Jane remained quiet for a few minutes, apparently trying to reconcile what she had just heard with her view of the world.

Joanna, grasping for something else to say, finally decided to change the topic. If the younger Mrs. Bennet would not bring it up, she would. "As we are to be living in this house together for the foreseeable future, do you suppose there is a better way to address each other than as Mrs. Bennet?"

Jane looked at Joanna, seeking to determine whether this was some trick. "I have more right to the name than you, having been married longer."

"Yes indeed, you do," Joanna tried to appease her. "If you wish for me to continue to call you Mrs. Bennet, I shall, but perhaps you could address me as Joanna."

"No, I see that you are right. Fair is fair. If I may call you Joanna, you may call me Jane. My eldest daughter is Jane also, but we call her 'Little Jane.'"

"May I meet her?" Joanna asked. "I have heard she is a very pretty child." She could not have picked a better way to gain Jane's affection.

When in the nursery, the two women got to talking while playing with Little Jane (her nurse stayed out of the way). Joanna inquired about Jane's other child and learned she was living in the village with her wet nurse. "How can you bear to be without her?" Joanna asked.

"I have grown quite used to it," Jane confided. "Horace does not trust that I can handle two at once."

"I cannot imagine he feels that way," Joanna exclaimed.

"Oh, but he does. He visits her quite regularly and does not care if I go also."

Joanna left the nursery quite certain that her new son-in-law had bungled matters badly regarding the baby and set about doing what she could to right the matter. First, she addressed it with Leonard, who really could not tell her why his second granddaughter was living with her wet nurse in the village. Next, she asked Leonard to talk the matter over with Horace and find out what he could.

When he reported back about the crying keeping Jane from sleeping and Horace's attempt to remedy the matter, Joanna shook her head with dismay and said, "Leonard, men cause much grief when they try to solve problems that their wives have not even said were problems. How could he think he should do such a thing when she did not even complain her husband about the baby crying? Jane may have been frustrated and tired at that moment, but she never asked anyone to send her baby away. Jane feels that Horace did not trust her with two little ones. Horace must have baby Elizabeth resume living here at once."

Leonard went back to talk to Horace and then Horace went to see baby Elizabeth's wet nurse and made the necessary arrangements. At dinner, Horace told Jane, "Tomorrow morning, Elizabeth and her nurse will take up residence back at Longbourn. She has been away from her mother for far too long."

Once Jane got over her initial surprise, she was well pleased. It boosted her confidence to see that her husband was trusting her to raise both children. It did not occur to her that she had Joanna to thank for this result and Joanna was just as happy that Jane did not know.

Joanna was there the next day when Elizabeth was welcomed back into the nursery. Little Jane was quite curious about the infant who she did not remember. She kept coming up Elizabeth (who was being rocked by her wet-nurse) and patting her on the cheeks, saying "Baby, baby, baby."

Jane stood awkwardly off to the side, watching.

Joanna saw that it was up to her to try to get Jane interacting once again with her youngest daughter. Therefore, showing much deference to Jane she asked, "May I hold your baby?"

Jane shrugged.

Joanna took that as a yes, approached the wet nurse and said, "Her mother has given permission for me to hold her."

Joanna picked up Elizabeth and while holding her walked over to Jane. She said, "She is a sweet thing but does not know me at all. I think she wants to see her mama." She turned the baby so Elizabeth was facing out and looking at Jane.

Joanna was hoping that Jane would reach for Elizabeth, but in this she was disappointed for Jane's hands remained by her sides. Finally, Joanna simply held Elizabeth out to Jane, so Jane had no real choice but to take her. Jane held Elizabeth awkwardly away from herself and Elizabeth began to fuss.

Joanna thought that Jane was not handling Elizabeth well, but she did not want to direct her. She knew that Jane needed to see she could handle things on her own without interference from another, therefore Joanna walked back to the wet nurse and asked, "Have you had a chance to get yourself settled in your room and your things unpacked?"

When the woman admitted that she had not, Joanna told her that now would be a good time for her to do that, effectively dismissing her. Joanna was not prepared for Jane's next words, "Why did you send her away? I do not know how to handle this one. She does not even like me, she is about to cry."

"Then there is no time like the present to learn and you are wrong, she likes you just fine. See how she is reaching for your hair? She wishes to know all about her mama."

Joanna pointedly turned away from Jane and focused on Little Jane, even when Elizabeth began to wail. While everything in her was screaming at her that she should take the infant into her own arms and soothe her, she resisted even looking in her direction.

Finally, her ears were rewarded by hearing the crying fade away. When Joanna decided to look at what was happening; she was delighted by what she saw. Some maternal instinct must have asserted itself in Jane as Joanna saw Jane had brought Elizabeth to her chest and was bouncing her as she walked. Joanna smiled then, feeling that all would be well between Jane and her second daughter.

Too, Joanna knew what her role at Longbourn besides being Leonard's wife would be. She would do all she could to help Jane succeed.


	32. Chapter 30

_Sorry for the delay in posting. Life happened and this chapter also needed a lot of work as before it was almost all summary. At this point I am not going to commit to a firm posting schedule as this last part of the story needs the most revision._

 **Chapter 30**

Within the first few days of Joanna's coming to live at Longbourn, an affection quickly grew between the two very different women. Soon, far sooner than anyone could have imagined, Jane had gained a dedicated confidant and friend and even something of a surrogate mother in Joanna, though Joanna was only a dozen years older than Jane.

Horace, seeing how Joanna had reached Jane when he could not, and that her presence was anchoring his father to Longbourn, began to treat her as more than a guest and instead as family. While Joanna was too young for Horace to think of her as a substitute for his mother (she was closer to his age than to his father's), he felt something for her like he imagined other people felt for a most beloved aunt.

Once Joanna was reassured that the rest of her new household would welcome her assistance, she quietly began to suggest small changes and then larger ones. However, her suggestions were always so sensible and met with such success that Jane and the Bennet men were willing to listen to and act on her more significant suggestions, once she offered them.

While Jane welcomed Joanna's presence in the nursery when she spent time with her two daughters, it pained Joanna's heart that even though Jane now had more confidence in relating to her youngest child, she still continued to show a strong preference to young Jane over Elizabeth. Joanna tried to remedy the situation by sometimes doting on Elizabeth (for clearly the babe needed attention and love) and sometimes focusing on young Jane in the hope that her mother would focus on Elizabeth, but most of the time Jane would still ignore her youngest daughter and either the nursery maid or the wet nurse would end up caring for Little Lizzy.

Baby Elizabeth had a strong preference for motion, be it rocking, bouncing or swaying; this was very different from how baby Jane was, as she was most content with close snuggling. Despite Joanna's gentle suggestions, Jane seemed to either not understand or be unwilling to understand that Elizabeth needed to be handled differently from Jane. So, while Jane might gently rock or sway with the baby, she did not do so at the rate or vigor that Little Lizzy craved. Therefore, she tended to fuss more when held in her mother's arms, which did not endear her to her mother. Joanna's heart ached that sweet Lizzy, who looked very like her mother, was not loved by her mother as she ought to be.

Joanna felt her own childlessness keenly at times and wondered if she should welcome Elizabeth into her heart as a daughter. Yet, it did not seem right to do so while her mother yet might come to love her as she ought, so Joanna resolved instead to do all she could to promote the relationship between mother and daughter and give Elizabeth as much love as she could. Joanna did see some progress in Jane's relationship with Elizabeth, but it was slow progress indeed.

But what baby Elizabeth lacked for in her mother's love, she gained in the love of her father. It was obvious to Joanna that Horace doted upon both of his daughters. Almost from her birth, Horace had spent more time with his "Lizzy-Beth" than Jane had. Seeing how his wife was more occupied with Little Jane, he gravitated towards Elizabeth when he visited the nursery.

Too, Horace must have already learned from his visits with her, that Lizzy-Beth liked motion and he had the physical strength to satisfy that desire for many hours. It was not unusual for Horace to bring Elizabeth to his study, which was rapidly becoming filled with books, and to bounce her on his knee while he worked, or to read some passage he was puzzling over aloud to her as he walked her back and forth, swaying. If Joanna was not mistaken, Elizabeth was well on the way to becoming her father's favorite.

Joanna wished to build up Jane's confidence as Jane had admitted that she felt ill prepared to teach her daughters the gentle arts expected of daughters of the gentry. Joanna decided that she would try to teach Jane some of the needed skills, but the difficulty she had was in deciding what would be most likely to have success.

Jane answered the question herself one day as she told Joanna, "I should like to learn to paint; my mother was always fond of my drawings. With a little help I think I will make a fine painter."

Joanna, never having seen a drawing that Jane had produced was a bit skeptical. "Perhaps we should work on drawing first, to see your skill and if there is anything in it that needs improving."

"No, no. I wish to try my hand at painting. I told you, I already know how to draw."

Then there was nothing to do but for Joanna to obtain paints and let Jane try. However, it was soon obvious to Joanna during her very first attempt to teach Jane that the experience was bound to lead to much frustration. Jane did not want to spent time learning to mix colors, or to practice making different thicknesses of lines with her brushes.

"Joanna, I just wish to paint, to paint something, not do all of this nonsense."

Joanna tried to tell her, "But working on technique is important if the work is to look well."

Jane went through the motions to mixing colors and making lines with a scowl on her face the whole time. Joanna could not decide if Jane was truly doing poorly at this exercise because she was unwilling to learn when it was not the exact painting task of her desire, or if she was truly unable to do well at it.

Finally, Joanna bowed to the inevitable and said, "Very well, I will assembly a still life and we can try to paint the light and shadows." Still life painting was not Joanna's favorite, but she thought it a useful way to begin.

Joanna spent some time obtaining suitable fruit and then arranging it. When Jane just wished to begin, Joanna made sure to keep all the paints and supplies hidden while instructing Jane at how to look at the fruit.

Joanna attempted to explain to Jane about light and shadows on the globes of the grapes and on the skin of the apple. She told Jane, while pointing to the apple, "Do you see how the light makes the top of the apple appear brighter than the rest of it?"

Jane shook her head "no" and seemed confused.

Joanna pointed to the top of the apple, "Look here, at how it catches the light, you see more yellows in the red and a bit of a shine."

Jane looked completely confused. "But the apple is red."

"Yes, but the red shade changes with the light and shadows."

Jane picked up the apple, which annoyed Joanna as she had arranged the fruit just so. Jane turned the apple over in her hand. "But it is red all over, except the stem."

Joanna tried again, urging herself inwardly to be patient. "Yes, it is red all over, but the red tones appear different when the light hits them and when they are cloaked in shadow."

Jane set down the apple and moved her hand over the table. "But, see, my hand is making a shadow and it is black."

"No, it isn't black, it is darker. If it were black, you would not be able to see the woodgrain of the table through the shadow."

"Oh, I see," said Jane. Joanna was not sure that she did see as Jane did not appear to be attending well. However, as Joanna felt she was getting nowhere with instructing Jane in the abstract, she thought it might be better to just try painting, hopeful that when Jane saw what she had painted, she would understand Joanna's lesson a bit better.

Joanna, as often happened when she drew or painted, became absorbed in her task. The grapes were luminescent and lovely in the afternoon sunlight and she was eager to capture the different tones the light and shadow brought out in the grapes.

Joanna painted for a few minutes, enjoying the sweep of her brush over the paper and seeing the grapes begin to take shape. She had only barely begun as many more layers of paint would need to be added. She had not thought of Jane during those few minutes but was snapped out of the pleasant state of painting when Jane sighed loudly, decidedly put down her brush and declared, "It is no use. I am no good at painting."

Joanna looked over at Jane's painting. She forced her lips closed, unwilling to say what she really thought of the purple dots with black underneath them. "It takes time to learn how to paint. As with anything worth doing, it takes time and effort to learn."

"It is too hard, I guess I will not learn to paint," Jane declared, stood up and walked off, leaving Joanna to decide what to do with Jane's attempt.

Jane wished for Joanna to come after her, to tell her she was a good painter, to tell her she would help her, or something of that nature. However, that did not happen. Joanna simply turned back to her own painting and continued. It only took her a few minutes to become fully reabsorbed in the painting. She worked hard to fix the tones in her mind, to see the grapes as they were as the sunlight of course gradually altered. By the time the light was gone for the day, Joanna had made much progress and was looking forward to painting further the following day.

Jane was noticeably subdued when Joanna saw her at dinner, but she perked up a bit when Joanna addressed her. Therefore, Joanna was not prepared for the sight that confronted her when the next afternoon she went back to the room where they had been painting. Jane was in the room, but rather than working at her own painting, she was painting on Joanna's painting!

Joanna's first reaction, fortunately, was astonishment rather than anger, and she was so astonished that she had no words at first. And then, she purposefully clamped her mouth closed, turned around and walked out the door. She was stomping as she walked down the hall, down the stairs, and through a couple of rooms and past Horace to reach the outside. Once she was outside, she walked faster and faster until she had broken into a light trot and was well out of sight of the house. It was only then that she allowed all the angry words to spill out of her.

That night, Joanna did not talk much at dinner. She had calmed down, but she still felt resentful and was terse in replying to Jane's questions.

Afterwards, when the men went to have a bit of port, Jane asked, "Joanna, are you angry at me?"

"Yes, I am. Why did you ruin my painting?"

Joanna looked over at Jane. Jane's brow was wrinkled as if she might be deep in thought. "I was trying to see how you made the grapes look like that as you stopped teaching me."

Joanna replied, "You were the one who ran off during our lesson. I would have been happy to teach you more, but you did not want to learn."

"But I did want to learn, I just . . . I could not do it right. I felt foolish, stupid. I feel that is all anyone thinks of me. I cannot do anything right. Your grapes looked like grapes. Mine looked like ugly purple clumps."

If Jane thought Joanna would reassure her as to how she had done or was likely to progress well at painting, she was bound for disappointment. Joanna was not like Jane's indulgent and encouraging mother. She believed in being more honest and not offering false praise or promises.

"If you want to learn, you need to listen and try what I try to show you. I think we would be better off if we started with sketching and shading, rather than painting. Painting is not about so much what your hand does, but about teaching your eyes to see what things really look like, compared to what you think things look like."

"I will try if you will try to teach me again. I was just wanting to be good at something, to prove to Horace that there was more to me than what he sees."

"I do not know if you will become a good painter or not. But please, do not ever paint on my paintings. I was enjoying what I was creating and now it is gone."

"I am sorry, Joanna." Jane truly looked contrite, like a puppy who has wet on the floor and immediately realizes his mistake.

That night when Leonard and Joanna were in bed, they talked a bit about Jane. Joanna explained all about everything that had occurred and then commented, "Sometimes she is so much more a child than a woman that I have trouble remembering that she has two children. She is thoughtless and a bit spoiled, but I think she means well. I worry sometimes about how well she will be able to mother her children when she still acts so young herself. Whatever did Horace see in her, well, besides the obvious? He is so learned and Jane, well, she is so ignorant and silly. I would have thought he would have wanted a wife with whom he could intelligently converse."

Leonard forced himself to confess, "Well, it is my fault that he ended up with Jane. You see, I rather fancied her myself and before you say anything, yes I was being an old fool, but I invited her family over and Jane was a bit too forward with me, in an innocent way of course, but well then it came out that she liked Horace and he was willing to marry her and that was the best resolution under the circumstances."

Joanna was quite dismayed but did her best to quell the words that threatened to spill out from her. Had she just been Leonard's second choice? Was he even now jealous that his son was married to Jane, the woman she was attempting to help improve herself? Was this why he had taken so long to propose, why she had to practically force him into it?

"I don't feel any romantic interest in her now," Leonard was quick to add, seeing Joanna's expression in the faint light. "She is my daughter now and, well, it only took a bit of time to learn that she is nothing more than a pretty face. I am so glad I did not end up married to her. You are ten times the woman she is."

Leonard pulled Joanna close and at first, she was stiff in his arms and unresponsive as he kissed her. "Please, my darling, you must know I love only you. For many months before you demanded to know what I was about I longed to take you into my arms and kiss you like this."

Leonard then began to place little kisses along Joanna's tight lips that began to loosen with each little kiss. She relaxed but remained passive as Leonard deepened the kiss, curious as to what he would do to try to prove to her that she was the only one he wanted, the only one he loved.

"Feel the effect you have on me, Joanna," Leonard told her, flopping on his back and pulling her atop him and his stiffening member. "That is all about you, and all for you, if you want it, my dear."

Joanna finally relented and began returning Leonard's kisses. She was enjoying how in this position Leonard was free to caress her with both of his hands and it was up to her to decide when and how their loving would commence. In the end, the evening came to a most enjoyable conclusion which was quite fulfilling for both.


	33. Chapter 31

_I'm sorry it has been awhile. I was not happy with my revised draft of this chapter so had to do quite a bit more revising, but think it works much better now and I hope that you agree. My posting schedule will be more erratic now as I work out more kinks with the last few chapters._

 **Chapter 31**

Joanna's efforts to teach Jane to paint ended up coming to naught, but as Joanna was still determined to help Jane and the entire household as much as she could, she turned her attention elsewhere. There was something clearly off about how the housekeeper managed the female servants as there seemed to always be either too many servants or not enough assigned to particular tasks and two of them seemed to do nothing much besides gossip and try to look busy. Joanna would not have tolerated any of this, so she was mystified as to why Jane simply ignored what seemed so obvious to Joanna. She had heard the Bennet men complain to Jane about this on more than one occasion, but Jane did not seem to get the hint.

Joanna tried to get at why this was, asking Jane, "Peterson and Smith never seem to get anything done, I wonder at the housekeeper allowing that."

Jane just shrugged and then said, "I do not concern myself with that."

Joanna was astonished; it was the very height of a mistress's tasks to be concerned about lazy servants. Was it possible that Jane did not understand that everything flowed from her?

She tried again. "At my old home, I would never let servants act in such a way. The mistress sets the tone and ensures the house runs as it should."

Jane replied. "Did you get to hire the housekeeper? Was it up to you whether to make her leave?"

"Of course, with the consent of the master, naturally."

"Well, my husband and his father hired this housekeeper without me, so it should be up to them to dismiss her or discipline her. If a mistake was made, it was them that made it and them that should solve it." Jane crossed her arms and nodded decisively.

"Do they know this is how you feel?"

"They should."

"But do they?" Joanna pressed a little harder.

"I . . . they should," Jane stubbornly insisted.

As the conversation was going nowhere, Joanna let it go. However, a couple of days later Horace's actions made her think that she needed to do more.

Joanna was passing the parlor where Horace and Jane were sitting. As seemed increasingly common, Horace was complaining. Joanna paused for a moment just out of sight to observe their interactions. "Jane, our bedding never got changed."

"What is that to me?" She asked.

"You are the mistress."

"Who you trust with nothing."

"Who does nothing but play with Little Jane and spend my money."

"Oh, is that all I do?" Jane said in a sultry voice. There was a pause in the speaking and Joanna wondered what kind of favors Jane might be giving to Horace in that moment and almost walked on.

"Jane, there is only so much time we can spend doing that, and while things have improved from a few months ago, you have been much less interested in my attentions than before and no, it isn't nothing, but if that was all I wanted, well then you could just as well be a kept woman serving as mistress of my bed and living in a cottage on the estate, rather than have the protection of my name, be the mother of my children and the Mistress of Longbourn."

Joanna was astonished and spared no time in walking on. She could only imagine how Jane felt, being told how little she was good for. Even if Horace felt that way, he should not have told Jane that.

Later that day, Joanna found Jane in the nursery. Although Jane had no reason to think that Joanna had overheard her conversation with Horace, it was very evidently on her mind as almost immediately Jane asked, "Am I failing to be a proper wife, mother and mistress of the estate?"

Joanna was perturbed that Jane was speaking so openly in front of the nurse, nursemaid and wet nurse. She knew very well that servants had a way of talking and a mistress that openly admitted defeat would be the subject of derision behind her back and increased shirking of duties. Had perhaps Peterson and Smith heard Jane speaking in such a way?

Joanna rapidly replied, "Of course not. Let us take that walk we were discussing early and sort out how you will implement the changes you were telling me about earlier."

She gave Jane a sharp look to try to convey the mistake she was making, but Jane seemed oblivious as he nattered on, "I just do not know what to do. Should I just give up? I know I need to please Horace in our chambers, but it is hard to want to do that when it feels like he does not care about me."

Joanna could not bear to see Jane essentially scuttling her own role as mistress and insisted louder, "Jane, our walk!"

Jane slowly got up. "I do not remember agreeing to any walk, but I suppose we might go."

When they were finally well away from the house, Joanna began to speak with Jane more directly about the problems in what she was doing than she had ever dared to do before, but at the same time doing her best to keep Jane from feeling hopeless. "Jane, you must never, ever say anything in front of the servants about not knowing what you are doing or about your intimate relations with your husband. Servants will take advantage of you and gossip about you. You must assert yourself, even if you do not know what to do. You have been abdicating your responsibilities for far too long."

"Abdicating?"

"Not acting, not asserting yourself, doing nothing."

"So, do you think I am lazy and good for nothing, too?" Jane seemed to be on the verge of crying.

"No, of course not," Joanna was quick to reassure her. "You lost your mother not long ago after just taking on the enormous role of mistress of the estate and mother. These are hard things to adjust to doing. But you cannot remain passive when things are going wrong."

"Passive?"

"You cannot do nothing when servants are lazy and when the housekeeper lets them be lazy."

"What should I do, Joanna? Please help me. I want Horace to be proud of me."

"You must act."

"But what if I make mistakes and make things worse?"

"Nothing could be worse than letting Peterson and Smith get away with things, and your housekeeper, too."

"I would like a different housekeeper. The men hired her, not me. They must not have any faith in me."

"When, Jane, when did they hire her?" Joanna already knew the answer, had heard from Leonard how Jane did not want to meet with anyone while growing large with child, her mother had finally convinced her and then in the ensuing death of her mother Jane had retreated completely, forcing them to eventually hire someone.

"After mother died. I did not even know she was hired for a while."

"Well are you keeping to your bed now? You can end her employment, you know. It is the mistress's prerogative."

"Prerogative?"

"You get to do it."

"But how will I find another housekeeper? My mother always used to help me with such things."

"I will help you, if you will let me. I have some ideas. I will find you someone better within the week. Should you like to terminate or demote the current housekeeper when we find her better?"

Jane shrugged. She had no idea what would be better.

"Ah well," said Joanna, "no need to sort that out until we have a different one hired."

Joanna after weighing the option arranged for one of the most reliable maids at her former household, Ashworth, to come in for an interview with Jane. Joanna also helped Jane formulate a list of questions to ask her.

Although Joanna asked Jane to come up with the list, it required extensive revisions as Jane's questions included such gems as: Are there any men you fancy at Ashworth? Are servants in your current household allowed to marry? Do you like to dance? Tell me about your family. Do you know how to paint? Will it be awfully hard to tell women older than you what to do? Are you good at keeping secrets?

Joanna patiently tried to explain, "Jane, you are interviewing her for the position of housekeeper, not dear friend. You must ask questions to sort out how she would handle the responsibility, things like, 'What would you do to keep the maids on task? What things do you think the housekeeper should handle on her own and which should be brought to the mistress for approval?'"

"I wish I were clever and smart like you, Joanna," Jane commented, worrying at a bit of hair framing her face by winding it round and round her finger. "I know my mother and father were trying to help me by matching me with Horace, because he has money, land and a big house but sometimes I wonder if I might have been happier married to a baker or something. I know I would have had to learn to cook and clean and help him in his shop, but a man like that wouldn't roll his eyes at me when I say something wrong. He would not make fun of me or laugh at me. He would not expect me to be more than I am."

Joanna tried to reassure her. "Horace will be proud of you when you get a good housekeeper. You will see."

"No, Joanna. I heard him say himself that I am mostly just good for my willingness in the bedroom and for the fact that, eventually, I will give him him his heir."

Jane thought about what Horace had really said. She had cleaned up what he had really said for Joanna's ears. Horace had been talking with his friend John Robinson who had married Miss Watson a few months after Horace had married Jane. Horace had not known that Jane was near and could overheard their conversation.

John and Horace were comparing notes on married life. Just before Jane started listening in, John told Horace, "I am mostly happy with my wife. She is most efficient in running my household and I cannot complain about the fact that she dutifully produced a son within the first two years of our marriage, but she now seemed to think she was being most put-upon when I want to exercise my marital privileges. Do not misunderstand me, she does submit, but it is not very much fun when she just lies there. I think she wouldn't mind if I obtained a convenient and left her alone at night."

Horace responded, "Jane may not be good for much, but she is very beautiful and very willing and enthusiastic in the bedroom. Oh, that woman missed her calling; she would be in high demand as a covenant garden nun. I am having quite a good time with her and making up for the few months of deprivation I suffered after her mother died."

Horace, in noting the wistful expression on John's face decided it would be appropriate to emphasize what John did have, and why he should appreciate Mrs. Robinson, so he added, with some exaggeration, "It is a good thing that Jane has the one talent and I am so fond of her bubbies and her watermill. Jane is such a pudding-head that otherwise I would have no use for her. She cannot run the house, only passably sees to the children and cannot even tell time. It is easier to have a rational conversation with the stable lad than with my wife."

John found himself giving Horace a sympathetic look. Apparently, the grass was not always greener on the other side.

"And you have an heir already," Horace added. "I expect we will get there eventually, and I will enjoy the ride, but if not for her bedroom skills and the fact that she produces easily so a son will surely come along one of these days, I would have been better off with almost any other bride."

The men then spent a few minutes comparing the physical attributes of the other local ladies and how well they might have run their households and warmed their beds had they married them instead. At that point Jane had heard enough, and thus missed Horace adding later, as he felt a bit bad of the impression his friend must have been gaining of his wife, "While Jane is not all that intelligent, she has a kind heart and is mostly good-tempered. She means well and I am quite fond of her. I think she is a more than adequate mother, but unfortunately, she favors our older daughter and I just do not understand why. She is not really all that hopeless around a clock, just the one time she mixed up the hands."

It can hardly be wondered at, that Jane felt so inadequate at running the household. If her husband did not have faith in her, she saw no reason to have faith in herself. Too, she found herself less enthusiastic in the bedroom once again, more going through the motions than always genuinely enjoying herself. She did not want to deprive Horace of apparently the one thing he valued about her, but it was hard to give herself completely over to physical enjoyment knowing what he really thought of her.

Eventually Joanna wrote nearly all the interview questions and pretended to be the housekeeper candidate so Jane could be ready to credibly interview her. From preparing Jane for this process, Joanna became ever more convinced that finding the right housekeeper would be key to Jane's success as mistress, and she was ever certain that she had just the right prospect in mind.

Joanna knew Miss Elise Hill quite well. Miss Hill was a cousin of her sister Dorothy's husband. She had entered service because her father had died quite young and she had not wanted to be a burden on her cousins. She was a hard worker who was intelligent enough to anticipate what was needed but humble enough to always know her place. Joanna thought would handle the responsibility well and being quite young and very patient could also be a kind of life-long companion to Jane.

Although Joanna was not present for the interview (Jane had asked but Joanna had begged off, wanting to show Jane that she could handle it), it must have gone well enough as Jane announced afterwards, "I have hired Miss Hill. I think she will be better than our current housekeeper."

"What will you do about the current housekeeper? What will you do about the servants who have been shirking their duties?"

"I do not know, Joanna. What should I do?"

Joanna internally sighed. She knew that Jane would have happily let her fully take over this task, but yet again Joanna was determined to have Jane at least keep up the semblance of being the mistress. "Why do you not tell her that you have hired another housekeeper and ask her whether she wishes to stay on as an upstairs maid or to find another position. When Miss Hill starts next week, you can tell her of the problems with those servants and let her either help reform them or if she cannot, you can let them go."

Fortunately, the current housekeeper spared them from much strife as she left in a huff and with two days of no direction, the staff and the Bennet men all breathed a figurative collective sigh of relief when Miss Hill, who was now to be called Mrs. Hill as a sign of respect (just as Jane's maiden aunt, Catherine Place, was referred to as Mrs. Place), took charge. She immediately separated those two servants from working together and with close supervision soon they were working much harder.

Although Jane had been coached and helped through the whole process by Joanna, she seemed to hold her head a little higher when the household began running more smoothly. Too, Horace seemed to be treating Jane with a bit more respect and from the giggles Joanna heard from Jane when she thought she was alone with Horace, Joanna believed their intimate relationship had also improved. This must have been so because only a few months after that Jane confided in Joanna that she was sure she was with child.

Joanna was happy for Jane, whose depression finally seemed to be lifting, but was sad that she did not have similar news to announce. Joanna knew that it was not impossible at her age to become with child, but it seemed unlikely to happen. She thought, perhaps it is my age or perhaps I am barren.

However, Joanna Bennet knew that even if she never had a child, she was happy to be Leonard's wife. She and Leonard very much enjoyed each other's company and she liked being of use to Jane and the girls.

Jane was still quite young and frequently asked Joanna to look after her daughters while she went to visit her sister. When Jane and Lydia were together, they had a wonderful time exchanging gossip and having fun. Jane always felt the weight of responsibility as mistress fall off her shoulders at such a time. When they were together Jane felt like she was once again a young maiden, rather than a married woman, and if their mother was still waiting for them at her childhood home.

Mrs. Phillips was also a frequent visitor at Longbourn. In every visit she made, she always saw the Bennet girls in the nursery and doted on them. Joanna saw in her a wistful expression that was probably similar to her own, as Mrs. Phillips did not, as of yet, have any children of her own. When Joanna and the Bennet men observed Jane and Lydia together, they found something delightful in their maintenance of such innocence.

When Joanna was looking after Little Jane and Lizzy, she would sometimes pretend to herself that they were her own daughters. She could already see the potential in both of them to make fine matches. Little Jane was an extraordinarily beautiful child, with silky light blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She also seemed to have an innate grace and dignity, in addition to being very gentle and calm.

When Elizabeth was not yet one and Jane not yet three, she broke one of Jane's toys, a doll with a china face. Joanna was there as their mother was spending time with her sister and witnessed the whole interaction. While the nurse was yelling at baby Elizabeth (which Joanna thought quite silly as it was not as if the crawling baby had any idea what she had done wrong), Jane picked up the doll, walked over to Joanna and asked quietly, "Jo-jo fix?"

Joanna replied, "I cannot fix her pretty face."

Jane's lips drooped for a moment and then she responded by hugging the ruined doll for perhaps thirty seconds and then said, "Goodbye dolly," before handing the doll to Joanna.

Jane then walked over to the nurse who was still berating Lizzy and told her, "No yell." The astonished woman instantly fell silent. Jane then gave her crawling sister a pat, "Sissy not bad." Joanna could see how almost any man would consider himself well blessed to someday have her as his bride.

Elizabeth was more of a handful, as the incident with the doll demonstrated. But she had a sweet nature as well, often hugging Jane.

Elizabeth had to touch everything, turning things over in her hands to see the from every angle. It seemed that almost before she could walk that she was climbing on most everything.

When Joanna took the girls with their nurse to walk in the gardens, it was Lizzy who felt the need to scramble into a small hole in a decorative shrub and then climb out a moment later holding a centipede. It was Lizzy who collected sticks, rocks and dandelions the gardeners had missed.

Lizzy was lovely, too, in a darker and more wild way. She had thick dark curls, deep brown eyes and the longest and thickest eyelashes that Joanna had ever seen on a baby. She was stubborn and determined, but most sweet with those she cared about (with Joanna feeling special to be part of such a group). Untamed was the word that fit her best and Joanna could only imagine that a man would have to be very strong and sure of who he was to be worthy of her.


	34. Chapter 32

_Sorry it has been awhile. I was struggling with this chapter which didn't want to behave (with part of it that is now gone inspiring the second chapter of "Master of Pemberly, Servant of God" which I posted this morning). Much of my remaining draft has way too much summary and not nearly enough in scene, so I am working on fixing that now._

 **Chapter** **32**

Unlike Horace with his doubts about his wife Jane, Leonard was very happy to be married to his wife. He was certain he had made the wisest decision of his life in marrying Joanna, though he still was uncertain about how it had all come about. He could not really understand how he came to be married to her or how he deserved to be this happy.

He wished to think he was clever or that his conversation had made Joanna consider him further but did not see much in that which should be pleasing to a woman. He was neither handsome, nor rich, nor important. And he had been timid and diffident. It had been Joanna who had acted, who had confronted him, who had sought him out.

Why? That question haunted him. Why did she make him speak? Why did she wish it? Why would she leave behind her place in her husband's home for a decidedly reduced circumstance living among those she did not know? The only way it was possible is if the love she bore for him made all those sacrifices acceptable, let her see him with different eyes; but why did she love him?

Leonard knew that Joanna loved him and also desired him but did not really understand it. He knew all the deficits of his body. Both those that his life at sea and life as the master of an estate had wrought, but also those caused by time, the constant pull downward toward the grave. He saw nothing in his appearance that would attract a woman worthy of attracting.

Perhaps she missed the physical act which men could find outside of wedlock, but women could not if they were to remain respectable. However, he also had a sense that women did not need such things as much as men. But if it was truly all about that, why was she content with him regardless of whether he could perform? And eager to spend time with him in any capacity?

While the brief interlude of the first few days of their marriage provided much satisfaction for them both, Leonard found that after this initial period his desires and the capacity of his body did not match up as well as he would have liked. Joanna did not act as Leonard feared she might the first time that he wilted and could not finish what they had started. Instead, she was very understanding of the frailties of his age and did not seem unduly dismayed.

It undoubtedly helped that given all he had learned from his son, Leonard knew ways to please Joanna even if he was not up for the final act. Additionally, Joanna was not shy about telling him what she wanted, and he was ever eager to please her. But Leonard had the sense that even if he had rolled over and fallen asleep, she would simply snuggle close to him and do the same.

If Leonard had been asked by his son (the only one to whom he might have revealed his secret feelings), he would have said he was at least half in love with Joanna before he knew how she felt about him. He would have also said that after that first kiss when he proposed, he knew that he loved her. Yet, this love was mixed with physical desire and the pleasure of knowing she loved and likewise desired him (despite his looks). However, he also found that as time went on, the loving feelings toward Joanna only continued to grow.

The love he bore for Joanna was like nothing he could have imagined. Yes, he had grown to love his wife Elizabeth, but the love he had for her was gentle, affectionate, more subtle. It was love, he was sure of it, but the quality of his love for Joanna was overwhelming by comparison and there seemed to be no limits to how it could and was growing.

Leonard had loved his parents and his brothers, he loved his son, too. But this familial love was different also.

Leonard was sad when each of his family members had died. He had grieved; he remembered it all too vividly. He suffered especially when Elizabeth had passed; he felt life at Longbourn afterwards was only about duty and protecting his family's legacy for Horace. However, he never thought he would die from the grief of losing Elizabeth or wish to end his life from her absence. Her death mostly made him lonely and long to be elsewhere.

The sea had beckoned most powerfully then. It was as if he were a fish on a fishing line, being hauled in; though the fish might think it could escape, its capture was nearly inevitable, especially when the fish gave up fighting and let itself be brought closer and finally netted. He had known that he would return to the sea, though the exact moment that this would happen was unknown.

But then he had rebelled, struggled, fought. First there had been his attraction to Miss Gardiner and the idea of a return to physical satisfaction and earning the envy of other men. When he gave up all hope of her, he was then certain his fate would be once again the sea. However, Horace had impeded him with his promise to delay. During this time, he had cast his eyes round and they had landed firmly on Joanna. Though he felt hesitant, diffident, unsure, still he wanted to be with her.

When he married Joanna, he felt he was giving up the sea forever and yet, still it called to him. He felt its inexorable pull still. He had not escaped the hook, though the man reeling him in had tired and yet might let him break the line or the hook might rip from his mouth.

Leonard found that his love for Joanna had a completely different quality than that of his love for his first wife. He could imagine being struck down if Joanna died, or wishing to die himself. Even the thought of it, made him feel ill.

He had a certainty, almost a premonition, that if something happened to Joanna, he would be in the first port, begging the captain of a mere sloop hardly fit for hauling goods, to employ him as a common seaman. He would work tirelessly while the waves crashed and a storm threatened to overturn the craft and then at the height of a storm he would either have a sudden attack, his heart stop and die on the deck, to later be commended to the deep, or he would be swept overboard, make no struggle to remain at the surface and let the sea sweep into his throat and pull him below the waves to where the water was still, inky and in allowing death to take him he would have a final relief to his pain.

One night when they were in bed together, facing each other, the room lit by a single bedside candle, Leonard gave his wife a light kiss before asking her rhetorically, "Oh Joanna, how is it that I can love you so intensely, that how I feel is so much more than I ever felt for my first wife, though I lived with her far longer and am sure that I did come to love her?"

She answered him indirectly. "Leonard, I too, have wondered how I can love you as I do. I know I came to love my husband. I begged him not to leave me; I begged God to spare him. All I wanted was to stay being his wife. But he did die, and the years passed and then though you had always been around, I finally saw you with new eyes. What I feel for you is more, more intense, more amazing, more sacred. I do not understand it myself."

He added, "And words are inadequate to explain it. I wonder how I could go through all my life as it was before without your love and mine toward you."

She answered, "Poets have tried to write about it."

He nodded. He was not a literary man; he did not read poetry as his son did. He wondered if they had found a way to express what his words lacked.

She added, "But nothing I have read can capture it."

He noted, "I have noticed that anytime I enter a room where you are, your eyes find me and without fail there is always a small smile would gracing your lips."

She smiled back at him then, with an unseemly full grin, the white of her teeth shining in the dimness. "You must notice me, as your eyes are always seeking me out first. You, too, smile every time you see me."

"The love I have for you, it is so intense and overwhelming. I wonder how I can possibly deserve you." His voice trembled a bit on the final words, from the emotion he was feeling. "I had long ago given up all hope of loving and being loved so deeply."

"I don't think it is a matter of deserving it but being blessed with it." She touched his face back so tenderly, stroking along his scar and then down his face.

Leonard caught her hand in his as it left his face. He brought her hand to his lips so he could kiss it. Then he could not resist imparting a row of kisses along her wrist, arm, shoulder and neck until he finally alighted on her lips. They softly kissed, with no urgency.

When the kiss finally ended, he added, "Well, I don't deserve to be blessed with it, then, I have seen all you have given up for me. Your home, your status, everything that was familiar. You try so hard to give us a happy home. I have seen your efforts in trying to help with Jane, to teach her what she should know, to shore up her marriage to my son. Do you know that it is my fault that Horace is saddled with her?" Leonard then shared how Jane came to be married to Horace.

Joanna was sympathetic and did not condemn him as he felt he deserved to be condemned. She told him, "It may be selfish of me, but I am so glad you did not marry Jane."

He smiled then, a genuine happy smile, then impulsively added, "But perhaps Horace would had taken note of you and asked you to be his bride."

Joanna shook her head in negation, "Horace is a fine young man to be sure, but I would not be happy to be married to him. It is you I fit with; you I wish to be with."

They kissed a little more and then Joanna blew out the candle. They held each other for a long time, until finally they parted a little and then drifted off to sleep.

As they slept, Leonard dreamed of the sea again. These dreams were common, always the rolling deck beneath him (whether beneath the sky or beneath other decks), sometimes a storm, sometimes relative calm, sometimes routine tasks and sometimes an attempt to take another ship or defending his own. He often saw his crewmates from long ago but at times was working with sailors that were unknown to him.

This time it was different, however, as Joanna was there, plumper than usual, sitting in a tiny cabin with some sewing. She was making what looked like a gown, but it was far too small for her.

When Leonard awoke, he understood what Joanna had been making in the dream. It was a gown for a baby. Joanna and he had never talked of children. He knew she wished for them, had seen the longing on her face at times when she held one of Jane's daughters. Leonard knew that his wife Elizabeth had always longed for more children and he wondered how much worse it must be to never have any at all.

His mind was half occupied with this thought while another part of him was simply feeling how the sea was calling to him again. Its call had never fully been silenced, but since his marriage it had been muffled by his affection and delight in his wife. Being parted from her would be far too high of a cost.

Joanna awoke only minutes after Leonard did. He asked her, "May I tell you about my dream." She consented and he discussed the images he had seen and added, "When I awoke and realized you were sewing a gown for our child, I was a bit disappointed that there was in truth no child and that we were not aboard a ship."

"I wish your dream had been true," she told him honestly. "I would gladly sail with you and birth your child even if it be in a foreign port. However, I know both things or even one, are most unlikely."

After they dressed for the day, Leonard tried to go about his business and renew his efforts to ignore his favorite painting so that he could once again tamp down on his desire for sailing and the sea. He resolved to walk past the painting without giving it more than a glance. He had stared at it so often that it was already firmly affixed in his mind, easily called up whenever the present was dull. Before he had a wife, often he fell asleep thinking of it, and aspects of it invaded his dreams.

Later that day, though, Leonard found Joanna standing before the painting, eyes fixed upon it. When she heard his step, she turned her face and smiled at him, but then her face snapped back to regard the painting, the small boats, the iceberg, the ship.

Joanna heard that same call of the sea herself, but it differed in that it was all imagining. The tales she had told Leonard of that childhood desire still bloomed in her, stoked by all the stories Leonard had related to his early life aboard a ship. The painting, which Leonard had described to her before she ever beheld it, drew her in. But while she still longed to have the experience of being aboard a ship of exploration, she knew it was not particularly realistic, even less so now than before. After all, were not all the sailors in the painting men? A woman was not intended for such a life; it was not in her nature.

Then Leonard was beside her, placing an arm around her. Together they stared at the painting. "I wish we could go," he told her.

"It perhaps is just as well," she told him, "Horace and Jane, and their children, need us here." Still, they stayed and stared at the painting for quite a long time together.


End file.
